


A Sea of Silence

by SKEvans



Series: Thigh Highs Chronicles [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Classical Music, Depression, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Parent(s), Music as a coping mechanism, Panic Attacks, Romance, Sexual Content, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 99,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKEvans/pseuds/SKEvans
Summary: He’s not a loud neighbor. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends over—if there’s no music, it’s always quiet on his side. She sometimes thinks he plays so much music to drown the silence he lives in.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Yuffie Kisaragi/Reno, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Series: Thigh Highs Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758349
Comments: 981
Kudos: 1018





	1. Élégie Op.3 no.1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! This is a oneshot I planned that got too long, so I’m splitting it up into parts. You’ll notice the chapter titles are all classical music pieces. For each corresponding chapter, they will either be referenced in some way, or they are a reflection of the mood at a certain point. You can listen along if you feel like it. I’ll always name the piece and composer at the start of the chapter.  
> Well, enjoy!  
> —  
> Élégie Op.3 no.1 – Rachmaninoff

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **1:** Élégie Op.3 no.1

—

The day Tifa gets a new neighbor, it rains.

She thinks of how the guy with blond hair must hate himself for choosing “today of all fucking days” to move. He keeps muttering and grunting and cursing in this low, hoarse voice; she doesn’t have to strain her ears to hear him, the walls are just that thin. He’s got a friend with him, a guy with a much louder voice, who keeps laughing, swearing, then laughing again.

It’s 10:00, and she’s getting ready to head out to class. When she passes them by in the narrow hallway, they’re struggling with an empty bookcase; their first meeting is tight smiles, a muttered “good luck”, a hissed “thanks”, and that’s it.

She doesn’t think about it for most of the day. Her building is in poor condition, with a shitty landlord and annoying neighbors; people come and go all the time. The guy moving in next-door is the third occupant in a year. And when she comes back after class only to head out again for work, there’s music seeping through the walls, so she figures he made himself at home.

They don’t talk—then again, she doesn’t bother talking with the other neighbors either—and all she sees of him for weeks are flashes of blond hair as he goes down the stairs on Tuesday mornings around 7:30, which is around the same time she opens her door to head out for school.

He’s not a loud neighbor. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends over—if there’s no music, it’s always quiet on his side. She sometimes thinks he plays so much music to drown the silence he lives in.

Their second meeting leaves an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

One Tuesday morning, she breaks their clockwork routine of him leaving at 7:30 and her following less than a minute after. Her friend is supposed to pick her up today, so she leaves a little earlier. Once she gets outside, it’s pouring; her friend isn’t there. She waits in front of the door, sheltered from the rain by the low-hanging parapet. When it’s been ten minutes and Aerith still isn’t answering her texts or her calls, she gives up and heads back inside to grab an umbrella. As she gets to her floor’s landing, she bumps into her neighbor.

Tifa reaches out for the railing to steady herself. The guy stumbles back. She can’t help but notice he’s wearing a T-shirt and an unzipped hoodie; no raincoat or umbrella in sight. As she goes to give him a quick apology, he brushes past her in silence and runs down the stairs. Her eyes follow him as he disappears.

Her first thought is, _rude_. The second, _weird_.

Then, it’s her turn to run as she grabs her umbrella and sprints to the bus stop. She doesn’t bother mulling over it for the rest of the day, but now, whenever she sees that unruly mop of blond hair at 7:30, the words _rude jerk_ light up in her mind like a neon sign.

It goes on like that for a while. But the third time they meet, things shift. It’s the start of something—Tifa has no idea what to call it. It’s far from friendship, and he’s barely an acquaintance; she still doesn’t know his name.

It’s raining again. Tifa walks into her favorite coffee shop; she spots his unruly hair as she gets in line. Her neighbor sits at a table near a window, a frown marring his features. He steals glances at his phone once in a while, looking more and more confused as time goes by. Tifa orders her latte to go. As she passes by her neighbor’s table, she peeks at his phone—simple curiosity. She takes a sip of the burning drink to hide her smirk.

Her neighbor is confused by a map.

The urge to stop is too strong. Tifa halts and swivels to face him.

“Hey,” she says.

He raises his head, still frowning; his expression goes blank when he spots her. The lack of reaction disarms her, and she grows unsure of her choice to help him. That time he bumped into her without apologizing runs through her mind.

“Hi,” he finally replies.

The sudden spark of recognition in his eyes pushes Tifa to keep on. She gestures at his phone with her cup. “I’m just taking a guess here, but you’re lost, aren’t you?”

He hesitates, biting his bottom lip before sighing. “Yeah.”

Her eyebrows rise in a wordless question.

“I ran in here to get away from the rain, but I don’t know this part of the city very well.” He drops the phone on the table.

It takes a lot of willpower for Tifa not to chuckle. She takes another sip of her drink. “So… basically you have an awful sense of direction?”

He removes his cap and runs a hand through his hair. “Kinda.”

Tifa refrains from commenting how _terrible_ it must be considering they’re less than a fifteen minutes walk away from their apartment complex. He’ll find out soon enough. “Well, come on, then.” She tilts her head towards the exit. “I’m going back.”

He gets to his feet. “Thanks.”

They walk outside; it’s still pouring, so Tifa opens her umbrella. Her neighbor adjusts his cap and pulls his non-water-resistant jacket’s hood over his head. Tifa doesn’t offer to share the umbrella; it’s a small travel one and wouldn’t cover them both.

They keep a brisk pace on the way to their building and arrive within ten minutes. As they get inside, Tifa peeks at her neighbor, noting his obvious frustration. He stays silent as they climb the stairs to their floor. It’s as they reach their respective doors that he speaks.

“Sorry.” He blows out a loud breath. “I know it looks ridiculous considering how close we were.”

“No worries. It’s not like I had to make a detour or anything.”

Her neighbor nods. Tifa takes in the hunch of his shoulders, his hands shoved deep within his pockets—he definitely feels awkward, and she puts him out of his misery.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” she says with a generic smile.

She’s opening her door when he thanks her again. A quick look over her shoulder reveals he’s still standing in the hallway; her door shuts and the neighbor is gone. Tifa doesn’t dwell on their third encounter, not really. From time to time, she wonders if she should have asked his name, but then tells herself he didn’t ask for hers.

As the weeks go by, music keeps on playing from his place. Once in a while, she hears laughter—but it’s always the same person who’s laughing, their voice loud and full of mischief. It reminds her more of the friend who helped him move in than of her neighbor himself.

Then one time he orders food, and the delivery guy knocks on Tifa’s door. When he realizes he got the wrong apartment, the guy apologizes twice before going on the knock on the right door. But silence reigns from the apartment; he’s not playing music this time. Tifa watches from her doorway, curious. The delivery guy keeps glancing at his phone, growing more anxious and frustrated.

“Is it paid for?” She asks when he’s knocked for the third time.

The delivery guy startles at her voice, not having realized she’d stayed. “Yeah.”

Tifa sighs. “Leave it there, I’ll tell him.”

The guy hesitates for less than two seconds; he drops the paper bag and races down the stairs with a ‘thank you’. Tifa waits to see if her neighbor will show up; after a minute, she goes into the hall and knocks on his door.

“Hey, the guy left your food at your door. It’s gonna get cold.”

She doesn’t stay to check if he grabs it. But as she enters her apartment, she hears his door open. Though she finds this strange, she doesn’t let it bother her—at this point, it’s just one more weird thing she learned about him.

Then it happens again. And again. The third time, Tifa is fed up. She makes sure her voice is loud and clear when she knocks.

“Would it kill you to open your door?”

There is no answer, but she hadn’t expected one, anyway.

Tifa gets her car soon after the third food incident. It’s an old beaten up thing she got for a good price; it still has a cassette player and its golden paint is more than outdated—but Tifa doesn’t care. She’s just happy she won’t have to run after the bus anymore.

An afternoon after she’s done with university, Tifa decides she’ll stop by a shop. She browses the racks, but nothing catches her eye. It doesn’t take long for her to exit the store and walk back to her car. As she unlocks the doors and is about to slip in, she hears the yells. She looks over to her left and nearly drops her keys when she sees her neighbor being chased by a police officer. Her neighbor spots her, and Tifa gasps as he runs for her car. When he throws the passenger’s door open and gets in, she does the same out of instinct.

“Drive!” He shouts.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Tifa shouts back even though she starts the car.

“Just drive!”

The car groans as Tifa steers it away from the sidewalk too fast and into the street; someone honks at her, but she doesn’t slow down. The officer grows smaller into the rearview mirror until he disappears when she takes a turn.

“What the fuck? What the _fuck_?”

“I’ll explain, just—”

“You’ll explain? I fucking hope so!”

Her neighbor twists his head to check if anyone is following them. “Look, it’s not my fault.”

“I don’t care! Tell me where to go!”

He gives her vague instructions, and she remembers how bad he is with directions.

“Give me an address or something. You’re not making any sense.” Tifa takes a deep breath, doing her best to focus on the road as she gets on a busy street.

Her neighbor looks at his phone first, then tells her an address that’s a fifteen minutes drive from here. Luckily for them, Tifa knows the neighborhood. Silence falls down as she heads for the place he chose. Five minutes in, she can’t take it anymore.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” She tries to keep her voice level to hide the frantic energy that’s taken hold of her. “You don’t get into people’s cars like that!”

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out. “I wasn’t thinking. I just saw you and acted.”

“What did you do? Do I even want to know?”

“It wasn’t me, it was my friend.” He ruffles his hair. “He vandalized a guy’s house. I was just tagging along. When we got caught, we ran in opposite directions, but the cop went after me.”

Tifa grits her teeth. “I am going to _kill_ your friend.”

“Get in line,” he grumbles.

They fall quiet again. Tifa’s heart still beats fast, and she keeps her eyes peeled for any police cruiser. As they near their destination, the bustle of downtown Midgar fades away, and their surroundings switch to old townhouses and apartments.

“What’s your name?” She finally asks.

Her neighbor turns to look at her. “I’m Cloud.”

“Tifa.”

Cloud clears his throat. “Thanks. Again.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say _whatever_ , but she opts for, “This is the last time I’m saving your ass.”

To her surprise, he laughs. It’s far from the loud laughter that comes from his apartment sometimes. Instead, it’s a deep, muted sound.

Tifa slows the car down until they come to a stop in front of a building. “Here you are.”

Cloud gets out of the vehicle but keeps the door open; he leans his head inside. “Do you want to come in?”

“Is it your friend’s place?”

“Yeah.” His lips lift in the shadow of a smirk. “I thought you might want to give him a piece of your mind.”

“As tempting as it is…” Tifa says, voice wry. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“All right. I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.”

He shuts the door. She doesn’t wait for him to get into the building before driving back to her apartment, hoping the entire time that the cop didn’t get a good view of her license. She gets home without a hitch, changes into her PJs, and orders pizza. As she watches a random movie she never heard of, her thoughts of her neighbor—Cloud—and his antics fade away.

That is until there’s another food delivery incident. And this time—this time, Tifa's had enough. People knock on her door now that they got used to her damn neighbor not answering, and she doesn’t want this to go on. So when the delivery arrives and they do their little routine of leaving the food with Tifa, she waits until the guy has left before glancing at Cloud’s door. Seeing as there’s no sign of life after thirty seconds, Tifa decides it’s fair game to keep the food.

It might also be childish payback for that time he jumped into her car.

Cloud ordered pizza, and she takes a slice (or two) on a plate, then goes into her living room to continue studying. As she sits down, she checks the time; it’s 19:43. The knocking comes as it hits 19:47. Tifa takes her sweet time wiping and washing her hands before going to open the door. A confused Cloud stands on the other side.

“Hey,” Tifa says, all innocence. “What’s up?”

“Hey… Do you know if the delivery guy came? I thought I heard something.” He plays with his watch, visibly feeling awkward.

Tifa rests her shoulder against the doorway. “Yeah, he did.”

Cloud frowns but stays silent. Though part of her feels bad, she doesn’t let down.

“Did you want anything else?” She asks with a smile. “My food’s getting cold.”

At this, he opens his mouth as if to speak but nothing comes out; he closes it soon enough. Finally, he says, “You took my food.” There’s a slight note of accusation in his voice, but mostly it’s disbelief.

“ _Your_ food? Hm, that’s weird, they delivered it here.” Tifa makes a disapproving sound. “They do that a lot these days.”

Cloud stands speechless for a few seconds; he runs a hand through his messy hair, a habit of his it seems. To Tifa’s shock, he chuckles.

“All right, that’s fair.”

Her eyes narrow as curiosity takes hold of her. “Why don’t you answer, anyway?”

“That’s…” He sighs. “First time, I was on the phone and didn’t hear him.”

“Are you gonna give me an excuse for each time?”

“No—no, I’m not. I knew what I was doing after that. I’m sorry, I just…” He takes in a deep breath. “I don’t like dealing with people. Strangers make me nervous.”

Something softens inside Tifa at his admission. She can tell by the way he seems to fold unto himself that he’s not making it up. Her mind flashes to their previous encounters and how he always acted awkward and distant.

“Well,” she says, “I got enough pizza for two if you don’t mind sharing.”

Cloud’s eyes snap up to hers. He shuffles his feet, hides his hands in his pocket.

“You can take half and eat at your place,” Tifa amends, seeing his fidgeting.

“No.” He clears his throat once, twice. “I mean, no, I don’t mind sharing.”

Tifa gives him a gentle smile. “Okay. Come in, then.”

She pushes away from the doorway to give him space to walk in and goes into the living room to get her now cold food. As she heads into the kitchen, she notices Cloud is still in the entryway.

“You can actually enter, you know.”

She doesn’t wait for his answer before disappearing into the kitchen. It’s as she’s putting pizza on a plate for him that she hears noise indicating he followed her.

“So,” she says to break the quiet, “you don’t like strangers, but you climbed into my car pretty fast.” She smiles so he knows she’s not being serious.

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. “Still sorry about that. I told him I’m never hanging out with him again.”

“And how long is that gonna last?”

Tifa takes his food out of the microwave and hands him his plate. He mumbles a thank you. They sit at the table facing each other.

“It lasted about a week.”

She laughs. “A+ for effort, I guess. Why was he even doing that?”

Cloud waits until he’s finished chewing before answering. “He got into a prank war with another guy from uni. It degenerated.”

Tifa gives him a ‘no shit’ look. “Has this other guy retaliated?”

“Not yet.” He wipes his hands. “I told him that Reno wouldn’t let this slide, but he’s not taking this seriously.”

Tifa freezes, her slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. “Reno? As in Reno Johnson?”

Cloud nods. “You know him?”

“Unfortunately. You guys are totally losing.”

“You mean Zack’s losing. I’m just a bystander.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowing. “That’s not what I remember.”

“I will never live this down, am I?”

“Nope.”

They chat as they finish eating; conversation flows between them, and Tifa can barely believe it. She has difficulties reconciling the rude and aloof neighbor she would bump into with the quiet but friendly guy sitting across of her. She discovers Cloud Strife studies Computer Science part-time; he’s 23 and will graduate next year. He works two jobs, moved to Midgar when he was 18, and likes all types of music. Tifa doesn’t bother telling him she already knew the latter.

It’s over an hour later when he goes back to his place. Tifa sprawls on the couch once she’s alone, not wanting to study anymore. She takes out her phone as curiosity strikes her—but after a few minutes of searching through all social media platforms she can think of, she finds no Cloud Strife. She’s not that surprised, but she could say she’s a little disappointed.

With a long sigh, she picks up her laptop and textbooks, forcing herself to get through the materials she needs to revise for tomorrow.

For once, when the music reaches her from Cloud’s side, she allows herself a slight smile.

Things don’t change much despite getting to know each other. On the rare times they cross paths, they say hello and not much else; both are always in a hurry, so they never get to _talk_. It surprises Tifa when she realizes she feels disappointment at this. Living alone gets lonely at times—though she wouldn’t admit it to her father, who hates the thought of her being on her own in Midgar. And having a neighbor she can chat with just sounds nice. But she doesn’t push her ideas on Cloud; if things are to develop, she’d rather they do naturally.

And eventually, they do.

Two of her friends from university text her to get ready late on a Friday. Tifa doesn’t need to be told twice to ditch her homework; she changes from her hoodie and leggings to jeans and a long-sleeved top. When Aerith and Yuffie arrive at her apartment, Tifa’s still putting on mascara. She lets her friends in before going back into the bathroom; their idle chatter drifts through the open door.

“Did he say why he canceled?”

“No.” The sigh comes from Aerith.

Tifa puts on her earrings as she comes out of the bathroom. “The date you mentioned a few days ago?”

“Yup. It was weird, he called me earlier and just said something came up.”

“Whatever,” Yuffie says. “You’re better off with us, anyway.”

Laughing, Aerith gets to her feet. “You’re absolutely right.”

They leave minutes after. As Tifa locks behind them, she glances at Cloud’s door, but the apartment has been silent all day. Yuffie leads them to a trendy bar she heard of; they go down a short staircase and into a large dimly lit room. Tifa raises her eyebrows at the size of the crowd—and also at the tropical-inspired neon decorations. It doesn’t seem to dissuade her friends as Aerith snags a small booth and Yuffie heads for the bar. Tifa sits next to her friend, waiting for the other girl to come back.

“Are you going to go on another date?”

“I think so?” Aerith shakes her head. “Zack said he’d call me tomorrow. I guess I’ll see.”

Tifa frowns a little at the date’s name, thinking she’s heard it before. When nothing comes back to mind, she dismisses the thought, figuring Aerith must have mentioned him in passing before.

“I was really looking forward to it,” Aerith adds with enough casualness it would fool anyone else. “Well, I’m sure he had a good reason.”

Before Tifa can pretend to agree, Yuffie comes back with drinks and plops down on the opposite side of the booth. She raises her neon cocktail with an umbrella, inciting the other girls to do the same.

“Here we goooo!”

Tifa hides her fond smile as she takes a sip. It’s been a while since they all went out together like this, and she missed this. As the night goes on, Aerith knocks back drinks faster than she usually does, and not being a big drinker to start with, the alcohol affects her in no time. Tifa notices and slows down her consumption to keep a clear head, knowing her friend will need help to get home. Once Aerith finishes her fourth drink and makes to go get another one, Tifa slides her a glass of water.

“Here, I got you this before.”

Aerith doesn’t even ask what it is before gulping it down. She grimaces when she realizes it’s water, but then giggles. “You tricked me.”

Across from them, Yuffie snorts. “And she’s gone. What’s up with you, Short Stuff?”

Tifa rolls her eyes at the nickname her friend hates. Aerith glares, leaning forward to face Yuffie.

“Nothing is up, you bite-sized gremlin!”

“Ooooh, I know! Are you that disappointed about your date?”

“That’s—no!”

Yuffie lets out a snicker. “If you say so.”

Aerith huffs and falls back in her seat. She takes hold of her braid and begins unraveling it. She only ties back the front of her hair in a lopsided, messy bun.

“Uh-oh,” Tifa says as she takes in their friend’s loose hair, a rare occurrence. “You pissed her off.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuffie waves her hand around dismissively before finishing her second cocktail. “It didn’t take much.”

“I want another drink,” Aerith declares.

Before they can react, she stumbles out of her seat and navigates towards the bar. Tifa looks at Yuffie, who shrugs. With a sigh, Tifa follows Aerith, struggling to get through the crowd. She finds her resting heavily on the bar, ordering a shot. The bartender hands it to her and moves on to another customer.

“Aerith—” Tifa shouts to be heard over the noise and music.

Too late—Aerith knocks back the shot. She freezes as the liquor goes down; Tifa reaches for her right as she straightens.

“Come on, I think you’ve had enough.” Tifa guides them back to the booth. This time, she makes Aerith go in first so she can’t run towards the bar anymore.

They stay a little longer, but it soon becomes apparent that Aerith isn’t enjoying herself anymore. Once she groans and lets her body fall against Tifa, Yuffie brings the night to an end. They take care not to jostle their friend too much as they get her out of the booth and outside. Aerith leans against Tifa the whole time, doing her best to stand up but with little success.

“Should I call for a taxi?” Yuffie asks.

“She’s bound to get sick before we get to her apartment. I think it’s better if I bring her back to my place. It’s a quick walk from here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Do you want to come with us?”

Yuffie shakes her head, already dialing a number on her phone. “I’ll just ask Reno if I can crash at his place.”

Tifa doesn’t hide her scowl but says nothing.

“Yeah, yeah, I know—he’s a douchebag who’s gonna break my heart. You’ve told me a hundred times before.” Yuffie brings the phone to her ear, waving goodbye at her friends. “Hiii, can I come over? No, I don’t mind walking—why, what happened to—” Her voice trails off, listening to Reno on the phone.

“I won’t say I told you so!” Tifa shouts after Yuffie as she walks away; the girl gives her the finger over her shoulder.

“Ugh.” The moan comes from Aerith. “Don’t yell.”

Tifa winces, feeling guilty for not having thought of that. “Sorry. Come on, can you walk?”

Aerith makes a valiant effort for about five minutes until she can’t hold upright anymore and clings to Tifa. They’ve advanced less than a meter when Aerith groans something sounding suspiciously like ‘I’m gonna be sick’

“Woah, woah, all right.” Tifa ushers them towards the sidewalk, hoping to make it to the bus stop and its trashcan in time. They do, but Aerith instead supports her weight on it and pukes on the sidewalk. Tifa lets out a sigh as she holds her friend’s long curls out of harm’s way. It’s as she makes sure Aerith doesn’t collapse that she spots the two guys trying to break into a car a little farther down the street. Tifa’s eyes narrow in recognition at the mop of blond hair.

“Tifa,” Aerith whines, grasping for her friend, “I want to sit down.”

“We’re just going to go a little further, okay?”

“Nooo, I don’t wanna.”

Tifa doesn’t heed her; she half-carries, half-drags Aerith towards the two guys, one of whom has unlocked the car’s door. The other plays lookout and sees her first; Cloud’s eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Hey,” Tifa says, “you mind helping me?”

Her voice startles the dark-haired guy, who turns around. “Fuck, Cloud, you had one job!” His eyes widen when he takes in the girls. “Aerith? What the fuck?”

Cloud is already at Tifa’s side, supporting half of Aerith’s weight. “You good like this? I can carry her. And that’s Zack, by the way.”

It takes a lot out of Tifa not to roll her eyes. That’s where she’d heard the name before. Aerith’s dreamy date just had to be Cloud’s troublemaker of a friend. “Did you really ditch her for another prank?”

Zack glances at the open car door with a confounded expression. “How do you know— _oh_ , you’re Cloud’s accomplice.”

“If by accomplice, you mean onetime escape route, then yeah, I guess so.” Turning to Cloud, Tifa adds, “Help me get her back to my place?”

Cloud nods, and with Zack’s help, they lift an out-of-it Aerith on Cloud’s back.

“Aerith, can you do something for me?” Tifa makes sure her voice stays soft, coaxing. “We’re gonna help you get home, okay, but you gotta hold on to Cloud. Can you do that?”

“You can’t hold on to a cloud,” Aerith grumbles. Still, she complies, tightening her grip on his neck.

“Oh, sweet lord. How much did she drink?” Zack tugs at some strands of Aerith’s hair. “She let her hair down.”

“Not sure why that’s relevant,” Cloud mumbles before getting to his feet. He keeps his balance as he straightens, and Aerith’s hold doesn’t slacken.

“She does that when she’s upset.” Tifa sends Zack a wry look. “Which she _was_.”

Zack has the nerve to appear puzzled. “I told her I’d call tomorrow.”

“Whatever. You’re gonna lose to Reno, anyway, so ditching her won’t have been worth it.”

“What the hell, how much does she know?” The question is for Cloud, who shrugs unapologetically. Zack swivels to face Tifa. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Cloud signals at Tifa to follow him with a jab of his head. “She’s my neighbor. I’ll text you later, okay? You gotta finish here.”

Tifa gives Zack a wide, sardonic smile before wriggling her fingers in a goodbye and taking off after Cloud.

“I _know_ that much.” Zack’s voice echoes behind them. “Hey, neighbor! Let me know if she’s all right!”

Despite her initial unfavorable impression of Zack, Tifa turns so he can see her nod in answer, softening at his concern for Aerith. Next to her, Cloud grunts; Tifa glances his way to witness Aerith clutching too tightly at his neck and looking both dazed and panicky.

“Tifa, why am I moving?” She slants her head forward to get a peek of Cloud’s face. “Who are you?”

“That’s Cloud. He’s helping us go home.” Tifa lets her weariness from the last half-hour of the evening shine through her voice.

Aerith giggles and stage-whispers to Tifa, “He’s cute, but his name is silly.”

Tifa pinches her lips to keep from laughing; when she sees Cloud’s smirk, she lets out a chuckle. Aerith babbles from time to time, filling the otherwise silent walk. Once they get to the building, Tifa holds the door open for Cloud to slip inside; they climb up to their floor, doing their best to make as little noise as possible. Tifa shuts her door behind them and falls back against it, feeling tired. She allows herself a few seconds of rest, then pushes away from the door to help Cloud. She gestures at him to come with her and heads for her room.

“Sorry for the mess,” she apologizes reflexively.

Cloud snorts. “That’s what you call messy?”

She chooses to ignore the comment. “Let’s get her on the bed.”

Together, they convince Aerith to let go—no, she won’t fall and hurt herself—and tuck her into bed. Tifa places a trashcan next to the bed and a glass of water on the side table. It takes seconds for Aerith to drift off; Tifa stays in case her friend gets sick again. Once she’s reassured, she exits her room, leaving the door ajar. Cloud sits on her couch, phone in hand; he looks up when she collapses next to him.

“Rough night?”

“Not really,” Tifa says. “I’m just tired. Is that Zack?” She points at his phone.

“Yeah. I told him everything’s fine.”

“What were you two doing this time?”

His lips twitch like he doesn’t know if he should laugh or not. “Zack wanted to leave a surprise for Reno’s friend.”

Tifa rolls her eyes. “I don’t even want to know.”

Cloud tosses his phone on the cushion and shifts to face her. “I was wondering—how do you know Reno?”

“One of my friends is kind of dating him.” The words have her text Yuffie, asking if she made it back. “Emphasis on the ‘kind of’.”

He nods as if he has no idea what to say to that, and it makes Tifa chuckle. Her phone vibrates with an incoming text—Yuffie confirming she’s fine.

“So… Why the prank war?”

“It’s so dumb,” The amusement in his voice contradicts his words. “They’ve always had a—a kind of rivalry, I guess. Nothing big. But then they got drunk one night, and… well, I’m sure you can guess what they decided to compete about.”

“Oh, boy,” Tifa mumbles. “This is gonna end badly.”

Cloud doesn’t hold back his laugh this time. “Probably.”

He looks down at his phone when it lights up and frowns. There is no hiding the sudden tautness of his body, and Tifa figures this is where they say goodbye.

“Thank you for helping me tonight,” she says, pushing away from the couch.

Cloud doesn’t miss her cue, though he appears distracted; his eyes keep go back to his phone as the screen brightens with another message. “Uh, yeah. No problem.”

Knowing better than to ask what’s going on, Tifa walks him to the door. “All right, take care. I’ll see you around?”

The question slips in without her meaning to, and she tenses. Apprehension fills her; it makes her want to shove him into the hall.

But Cloud at last puts the phone away and looks at her again. There is no more humor or light-heartedness in his eyes, only wariness and exhaustion. He gives her a stiff smile.

“Yeah, of course. Goodnight, Tifa.”

Cloud pads towards his apartment and disappears without another word. The music starts up minutes later. Tifa does her best not to let it bother her—she checks on Aerith again and makes herself an improvised bed on the couch.

Tonight, he chose classical music. There’s something sinister about the melody drifting from his place, something soft and foreboding that harmonizes with Cloud a little too well.

She closes her eyes and listens as the piano’s melancholy voice shifts into a wishful crescendo—and allows it to rock her to sleep.


	2. Arabesque No.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I ever think this would be a oneshot…?
> 
> Tiny detail, but last chapter it said Cloud would graduate this year. It was meant to be next year (it got corrected). Just letting you all know for continuity's sake.
> 
> —
> 
> Arabesque No.1 - Debussy

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **2:** Arabesque No.1

—

Monday afternoon, Tifa meets Zack again.

She almost doesn't notice him until he stage-whispers, "Neighbor! Hey!"

Tifa twists his way. He stands around a corner of the hallway, resting against the wall, hands in his pockets; it's the glint of mischief that alerts her.

"What did you do this time?" she asks as a greeting.

Zack grins. "You'll see. Come on." He gestures at her to come closer.

Though part of her wants to walk away, Tifa joins him. "What am I looking—oh, okay." She crosses her arms when she spots Reno hanging out with friends in one of the sitting areas. "Didn't you just prank him?"

"That's the beauty of it," Zack says. "He won't see it coming. Oh, here we _go_."

Zack pushes them back against the wall until the throng of students conceals them. Across the hall, Reno chats with a guy, a bottle of Diet Coke in hand. He brings it up to twist the cap and—

"You did _not_ ," Tifa gasps at the same as the soda erupts from the bottle and all over Reno.

Zack's laughter rises up to mix with Reno's shouts and the noise of the crowd. Reno jumps to his feet, his expression spelling murder as he scans his surroundings for the culprit. It takes seconds for him to spot Zack, who immediately pushes Tifa in the opposite direction as a signal to leave.

Reno's indignant yell follows them, "Yeah, run away, you fucking coward!"

Zack leads them a floor down and into a small cafeteria. His laughter fades into a shit-eating grin as he collapses on a chair. Tifa does the same despite having been on her way to study. She drops her bag on the table.

"You know he's gonna come up with something worse, right?"

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."

"Does this end when one of you accidentally dies or…?"

Zack chuckles. "It ends when one of us admits defeat."

"So...never?"

"He'll cave at some point," he says with a self-assured nod.

Tifa lets her doubts drip from her voice, "Yeah, I'm sure."

He makes a disappointed noise. "You have no faith in my genius."

"In your—" She rolls her eyes. "All right, tell me. What did you do to his friend's car?"

"It's Reno's car, but his roommate borrows it." Zack falls back into his seat, obviously delighted at her sudden interest. "Every Friday night, he goes to the gym, so we knew the car would be there."

"And?"

"I made a 'for sale' sign with Reno's phone number on it. Put the price really low. People will call him non-stop about his car."

Tifa frowns. "And you don't think they'll just remove the sign?"

Zack's smile turns wolfish. "When they'll be able to get in the car, they will."

Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "How?"

"Fishing line," he says. "I got into the car and placed the sign. Then I lowered the back seat and popped the trunk open. I tied one end of the line to the passenger door's handle, and the other to the driver's side. Did the same for the rear doors. I had to crawl out through the trunk to get out, but it was worth it. At some point, they'll think to do the same to get inside." He smirks. "That's why I put an ad for his car on internet."

Tifa blinks several times as his words process. "This is…more elaborate than I expected."

"I take this very seriously, neighbor."

"It's Tifa," she says drily. "How did you do the Coke prank?"

"I'm glad you asked, neighbor." He emphasizes the last word. "You just tie a string around the Mentos and _carefully_ twist the cap around the leftover string so it stays in place. Cut whatever's dangling outside the cap so he can't see it. Boom." He claps his hands once.

She hums with exaggerated seriousness. "You might have a chance after all."

" _Might_ , she says." He puts a hand over his heart as if wounded. "Why do you think Reno will win, anyway?"

Tifa bends forward like she's sharing a secret; Zack plays along. "Because he's too ambitious and dumb enough not to accept defeat and pull a prank that will go too far."

A genuine laugh escapes Zack. "Oh, neighbor. Is that _concern_ I hear?"

Tifa leans back, amusement tugging her lips into a slight smile. "You'll hear whatever you want to hear."

He shrugs, not denying it. "How was Aerith, by the way?"

Now that the topic strays to her friend, Tifa's skepticism surfaces anew. "Fine. I thought Cloud texted you."

"He said you guys got home safe, yeah. But you know that's not what I'm asking."

Tifa crosses her arms. "She didn't feel too good in the morning, but otherwise, she was fine."

Zack's eyes drift to the side, a giveaway of his hesitation, as he says, "Did she say anything about the date?"

"She was looking forward to it." Tifa leaves it at that.

His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up, typing away, before focusing on Tifa again. "I didn't want to cancel."

"Then why?" Her exasperation is clear. "Why did you spend the night pranking Reno instead?"

He blows out a breath and ruffles his hair. There's an edge to his movements like she breached a topic she shouldn't have. Zack checks his phone again, then puts it away.

"How well do you know Cloud?"

Tifa frowns. "What does it have to do with this?"

"Cloud has a lot on his mind right now," Zack says, ignoring her question. "He needs a distraction—that's why I drag him along on the pranks. Friday was not a good day for him."

His words bring her back to said Friday night and the somber music that had wandered from Cloud's apartment—to the sudden tension that had taken hold of him, the apprehension she had seen in his expression.

"Oh," she says, her voice quiet, "okay."

Zack gives her a sheepish smile. "I know it was shitty of me to cancel at the last minute. But—" He bites his bottom lip. "Yeah, I couldn't leave him alone like that."

"I get it." Tifa brings the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her knuckles. "After Aerith fell asleep, we were talking when he got a message. His mood changed—it was obvious he wasn't feeling well, and…" She stops herself, not certain if she should share aspects of Cloud's daily life.

"Fuck, not again," Zack whispers. He doesn't elaborate on his frustration, instead encouraging to continue. "And?"

She takes a moment to decide what to say. "This might sound unrelated to you, but… There's always music coming from his place." Seeing Zack's serious nod, like he understands what she means, pushes her to add, "I didn't think much of it at first, just that he didn't like silence. But Friday… The piece he chose… It felt really sad and ominous. I had the impression it reflected his mood too well to be a coincidence."

Tifa hadn't recognized the piece at first; it had been a long time since she'd heard it. For the last four years, she'd make the conscious decision to avoid listening to classical piano. But the next morning, the melody had been stuck in her head, the beginning section playing on loop until it became familiar—Rachmaninoff's Élégie. There had been more music flowing from his apartment throughout the weekend, but nothing as haunting.

Zack rubs his forehead. "Aw, shit. He was playing classical music, wasn't he?"

"I'm guessing that's bad?"

"I mean, no, not necessarily, but it's not great either."

Curiosity tugs at Tifa, but she reins it in; Cloud is her neighbor, not her friend, and being nosy won't do anyone any good.

"Anyway," Zack says as he straightens, "we can speak of that another day. Here he comes."

Tifa turns around, spotting a somewhat puzzled Cloud walking in their direction. Maybe because of her discussion with Zack, she takes in the bags under his eyes and the weariness to his posture, something she wouldn't have noticed before. Cloud stops next to the table.

"Thank you for gracing us with your holy presence." Zack kicks a chair out. "Took your sweet time."

With a shrug, Cloud puts his bag next to Tifa's and sits down. " _I_ go to class."

"Class? What's that?" Zack pretends to be confused. "Never heard of it."

"You're terrible," Tifa mumbles. She waves a Cloud. "Hi."

Cloud nods in return. "What did I miss? You two are hanging out."

Zack grins. "She is now _my_ accomplice."

"I am not." She rolls her eyes, though it's mostly for show.

"She's lying. Your neighbor is very concerned we'll lose."

Before she can protest, Cloud says, "Her name is Tifa."

Zack laughs. "I'm just messing around. And dude, what you missed was Reno getting mad again."

"Already?" A smirk forms on Cloud's lips. "Did he get into his car?"

"Dunno." Zack taps a finger against the table. "I have to figure out the next one."

"Is that your strategy?" Tifa jumps in. "Overwhelm your opponent?"

He winks at her. "She gets it."

With a soft snort, she counts on her fingers. "Let's see. From what I've seen, you vandalized his house, put his car up for sale, and showered him in Coke at school."

"Seriously?" A burst of laughter comes from Cloud. It erases the tiredness from his features.

"Coke and Mentos." Zack clicks his tongue. "Never fails."

Tifa shakes head. "What's next?"

"You see, neighbor, we have to build to the final blow. I have a list of small pranks right here." Zack waves his phone around. "Wanna help me choose?"

Without meaning to, Tifa peeks at Cloud to judge his reaction, noting his relaxed stance. No sign of agitation or unease. And there's something about helping him stay in this easygoing state that feels right. When she looks at Zack again, the shrewd sparkle in his eyes tells her he knows what she is thinking. Tifa clears her throat.

"Yeah, I don't mind," she says.

An eager Zack unlocks the phone's screen, places it on the table and turns it around so both Tifa and Cloud can read his list. For a while, they throw ideas left and right, building from what Zack had already thought of. Tifa doesn't take part seriously at first, but as the conversation goes on, she finds herself invested in this a little too much. Zack doesn't bother hiding how pleased he is by her involvement, smiling and seeking her opinion. Next to her, Cloud isn't as overt, but there's no denying the slight, amused smirk that doesn't go away.

"What about that final blow?" she asks. "Have you thought of anything?"

Zack whispers conspiratorially, "You know all this means you're on our team now, right?"

"I don't—" Tifa swallows down her reflexive opposition and sighs. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

"Congratulations, you've leveled up from accomplice to partner." Zack extends his hand to be shaken. "Welcome to the winning team."

Tifa chuckles as she returns the handshake. "So?"

"We have some options," Cloud says. He gives her a friendly smile, and she counts that as a small victory. "But so far nothing seems enough to get him to capitulate."

An idea pops up in her head. "What about—" She takes a second to think this through. "Could you get into his car again?"

"Yeah, but it probably won't be as easy."

Tifa rests her chin on her fist. "But if you already did something to his car, he might not expect you to do another prank on it."

"She has a point," Cloud says. Next to his hand, his phone lights up.

Both guys freeze. Cloud makes no move to check it, but uneasiness replaces his lightheartedness from before. Though the mood change is difficult to dismiss, Tifa acts as if nothing happened, figuring appearing oblivious is a better move than meddling.

"What if you could and you put glitter into the vents?" At this, both guys stare at her. "Turn it up to the max, and when he starts the car—surprise."

" _Yes_." Zack lets out a whoop, attracting people's attention their way. "You're evil, neighbor, and I love it."

Tifa glances at Cloud; he laughs and his eyes clear. His phone lays untouched. She smiles.

"It'll be everywhere for months," Cloud says.

Zack snickers. "That's the best part."

Their discussion goes on easily for a while until Tifa checks the time and realizes she has to head home if she wants to have enough time to finish an assignment due the next day. She takes her time gathering her things, not wanting to go.

"Leaving already? Give me your phone." Zack reaches out to take it before she can answer. "We can't just part like this."

She sighs and gets to her feet, waiting for him to finish programming his number. When he gives her phone back, he winks.

"I'll send Cloud your number. He's too shy to ask."

At this, Cloud chokes on the water he'd been drinking; he puts the bottle on the table and thumps on his chest, coughing up whatever went down the wrong way. Tifa bites her lip, concern for him warring with amusement at his reaction.

"That's not true," Cloud rasps once he can speak again.

Zack waves a hand around like he doesn't believe a word. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say."

It seems Cloud knows better than to argue with Zack. Instead, he stands up and shoulders his backpack. "I have to head back too. Don't forget we have the exam on—"

"I _know_." Zack rolls his eyes. "Man, you're worse than my mother."

"Do you want a lift?" Tifa cuts in before Cloud can reply.

He looks at her with some hesitation, but then says, "If you're offering, yeah."

"She just did, dumbass."

Cloud grunts. "Why am I friends with you?"

Tifa waves goodbye at Zack and walks away; Cloud falls in step with her, shaking his head as Zack's voice trails behind them. "You love me!"

"He's a handful," Tifa says as they exit the cafeteria and head for the parking lot.

"Understatement," Cloud mumbles. "You don't actually have to get involved, you know."

"Oh, you mean with the pranks? It's fine." Redness creeps up her cheeks when she remembers that she accepted as an impulse to help him.

Silence falls until they get in her car and take off towards their apartment building. At first, the quietness doesn't feel heavy, but then Cloud finally checks his phone, and his features twist into a scowl. Though she's not one to pry, Tifa can't pretend not to notice now that they're alone.

"Everything all right?"

Her question snaps Cloud out of his musing. He shoves the phone away in his backpack. "Uh, yeah. Yeah."

"You sure?" The words get out without her meaning to. When Cloud says nothing, she adds, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed."

Cloud's loud sigh fills the air between them. "It's okay. I just have a lot on my mind." He clears his throat. "I'm also failing a class, so it's not helping."

The deflection is nowhere near subtle, but Tifa doesn't call him out on it. "That sucks. A required class?"

"No, it's an elective." He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. "I took whatever fit in my schedule, but sociology isn't my strength. Or any kind of social science, to be honest."

Her interest stirs at the mention of sociology. "Which class is it?"

"Sociology of the environment."

"Oh."

Cloud hums. "Yeah. It's interesting, but I'm not cut out for that."

Tifa parks the car in her designed spot and cuts the engine. They get out, head inside the building and up the stairs. It's only once they stand in front of their respective doors that Tifa brings herself to speak again.

"I can tutor you if you want."

He freezes as he ruffles through his bag for his keys, and stares at her. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I took that last year. Sociology's my major." She gives him a knowing smile. "Professor Wallace is a mean but fair grader. You just have to know what to expect."

"Are you really offering?" Cloud at last takes out his keys but makes no move to unlock his door. "Because I'm saying yes."

Tifa laughs softly. "Then we can check that tomorrow or another day if that's okay with you? I have an assignment to finish tonight."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. That's perfect." His shoulders sag as if some tension evaporated at once. "Thank you."

"No worries. Did you get my number from Zack?"

"Yeah, he sent it after we left." Cloud looks like he wants to add something but keeps silent.

"Text me so we can set up something, then. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

Tifa is halfway inside her apartment when Cloud calls out to her. "Tifa, thank you."

She pokes her head beyond the threshold and smiles. "No problem."

Her door shuts behind her, muffling the sounds of the hallway; she drops her bag on the floor and takes off her shoes. She's finished changing into comfy clothes when her phone indicates new messages, and she bursts out laughing as she takes in the series of notifications.

_Zack Fair created the group._

_Zack Fair named the group_ _**Winning Team** _

_Zack Fair set the nickname for Tifa Lockhart to_ _**Neighbor** _

_Zack Fair set the nickname for Cloud Strife to_ _**Second in Command** _

_Zack Fair set the nickname for Zack Fair to_ _**Mastermind** _

**Mastermind:** _btw where the fuck am I supposed to find enough glitter?_

"Oh, boy," Tifa wonders aloud as she watches the little dots jump on the screen next to Zack's photo. "What have I gotten myself into?"

—

As the days go by, Tifa does her best to ignore Cloud's sudden taste for classical piano. She tells herself it's fine—it's fine for him to enjoy it. He can listen to whatever he wants. The pieces don't all have the same sadness as Rachmaninoff's Élégie; she guesses it means he doesn't only play it when his mood sinks. But despite her efforts, the music digs up memories and emotions she thought long-buried.

She has no class on Thursdays, and she uses the day to shop for a new coffee table. Hers is nearing the end of its life, so she finds a classified ads website. Twenty minutes into her research, music from Cloud's side once again fills the silence. This time, the piano hits differently, a wave of nostalgia lashing at her. The dreamy quality, the airiness of the melody, the whimsical polyrhythms—she remembers playing this piece as one would recite a poem, blanketing the audience with serenity and a touch of magic. Tifa stops scrolling through the website; the notes drift over her, each one an arrow of pain and delight. She grants herself a moment to enjoy something she never wanted to miss.

She's thirteen again, going up the stairs leading to the stage. As she walks across it to the piano, the room is a cage; its size intimidates her enough for her heart to drag itself up her throat. She wipes her damp hands on her red velvet dress, the same one she's been wearing for every recital this year. But the moment she sits down, her body positioning itself on its own, her mind blanks. She breathes in—and plays. Tranquility she only finds in these moments guides her hands, her mind, and she forgets the audience. Her world shrinks until there is only the beauty of Debussy's Arabesque No.1 knocking on the door to her soul, asking to be let in, imploring to mend the mosaic she has become. As the music ends, so does the illusion of peace—the thunderous applause brings her back to reality, and part of her wishes she'd stayed forever in that fantasy.

The impulse to get to her feet and pad into her bedroom is too strong. Once she stands in front of her wardrobe, she hesitates. The Arabesque keeps on playing, entering its second section as if it has lost its way into the woods and is seeking a path home. The sentiment, Tifa realizes, is hers more than the music's, and it has her open the wardrobe and take out the box she'd hidden at the bottom. She kneels on the floor, removes the lid, and stares at the many piano partitions she never found the will to leave behind.

The sight is enough to make her throat clog up. She wants to riffle through all of them, seeking the ones she learned and the ones she wanted to play one day. This urge is strong, and Tifa almost gives in—but the phantom of the past and the regret it drags behind overpower anything else. Tifa puts the lid back on. She goes back into the kitchen to continue browsing for a coffee table. It doesn't matter, she tells herself, none of that matters anymore. The music fades out, signaling the end of the piece, and she sighs in relief.

But then it plays again. Tifa drops her head in her hands. She doesn't want to be reminded of everything she regrets, of the loss deep inside her. The music that used to bring calm now stirs a whirlpool of negativity, and it's hard to remember the joy it brought her. With a long inhale, Tifa goes back to shopping online. She ignores the notes of the Arabesque dancing with unseen grace around her. Her search gives no result; as she scrolls the drop-down menu to go check in another category, the section **Musical Instruments** catch her eye. Before she knows what she's doing, Tifa hovers over the words and clicks on the adjoining **Piano and Keyboards** link.

She's not looking for anything, not really. Inside her chest, her heart contracts on beat with the last notes of Arabesque. At the bottom of the first page, she stumbles upon an ad for an upright piano listed at $500, with the mention _negotiable_. The mouse hovers the image. She's just checking—nothing has to come out of this.

The page loads, showing four photos of a black apartment piano and a matching bench. As she examines the photo, it surprises Tifa to find the piano in excellent condition; a quick glance at the description reveals the seller has to move out urgently and cannot bring the piano. It's a 88 keys piano with three pedals, amongst them a practice one. Tifa stares at the ad, the thought of it being perfect appearing unsolicited. Her fingers go rigid over the keyboard. Mindlessly browsing is one thing, inquiring is another, and yet—

It feels _right_. It feels like hollowing out herself to find buried treasures she forgot lay there. It feels like honoring the dead and connecting to the past. It feels like crying tears made of glass, the sharp edge of memories cutting her cheeks, but it's music that bleeds from the wounds, a reminder it has always been a part of her. Debussy's Arabesque No.1 has ended and something else has come along, but the hope and the sorrow imparted by the dreamlike melody have taken root. There is no refusing the idea, the possibility, not anymore.

The seller replies to her email within the hour—Tifa wrote to him and closed the laptop, going out to run errands. There was no way she could stay in the apartment doing nothing but dwell on what she did. When her phone vibrates with an email, she holds her breath. The seller is moving in less than three days so can she please swing by within 24 hours, he'll even help her move it if she doesn't live far; can she call him ASAP at the number below? Tifa checks the address—it's ten minutes away from her place.

Two phone calls and three hours later, Tifa and Yuffie help the seller—Benjamin—move the piano into his van and then into Tifa's apartment. She pays him and wishes him good luck on the move; he thanks her with a relieved smile and exits the apartment. Once her door is closed, the extent of what she just did hits Tifa.

She bought a fucking piano.

From the living room, she can hear Yuffie pressing a key with too much force, the A-flat resounding in the apartment.

"Does this sound out of tune to you?" Yuffie calls out. "Sounds out of tune to me."

Tifa smiles despite herself. "You have no musical knowledge of any kind," she says as she goes to join her friend. "But yes, it's out of tune."

Yuffie sits on the bench, facing towards Tifa. "I had no idea you were looking to buy a piano."

"It was—a last-minute decision." Tifa keeps the fact that she had meant to buy a coffee table to herself.

"Are you going to play something to try it out more?"

While at Benjamin's place, Tifa had done a few scales to test the feel of the keys. It had been the only thing she could think of playing at the moment. Now that she could grab a partition and play—she can't bring herself to, even less so in front of someone else.

"I'll have it tuned first," Tifa says, truth and lie twisted together. "There's no point in playing something that's going to sound terrible."

If Yuffie is skeptical, she doesn't show it. They chat a little and eat an early dinner before Yuffie has to leave. Alone, Tifa approaches the piano; she sits at the bench and lifts her hands—but can't bring herself to lower them to touch the keys. She stays frozen until it becomes clear she won't be able to play—not tonight. Disappointed but not surprised, she stands and pushes the bench under the piano.

It was stupid, she thinks, stupid of her to go through with this. She wanted so badly to find the will to play again while knowing she might not be able to bring herself to—warning bells should have gone off. Tifa grabs her phone as a distraction from her chastising mind; she has three new messages, so she plops down on the couch and checks the first one.

 **Aerith:** _You bought a piano?_

With a shake of her head, Tifa types a quick reply explaining that, yes, she got a secondhand piano and that, yes, they will discuss this another day. The other message is from her father, asking for news. She debates calling him, but with all the emotions today has brought up, she texts him back instead, with a promise to call this weekend. The last message is from Cloud, sent an hour ago, wondering if she was free to tutor him tonight.

Tifa hesitates—she's not really up for that, but it might prove to be the distraction she needs from her thoughts. Without overthinking this, she sends him a quick reply saying she's free. He writes back seconds later.

w _hat time?_

Something about the rapidity of his answer strikes her as funny until she remembers how his mood seems to shift whenever he looks at his phone.

_right now? bring your stuff._

_ok give me 5 minutes_

Cloud knocks on her door too soon for Tifa's taste—she wishes she could have cleaned a bit, a mechanical habit when having guests over. She lets him with a quick smile.

"Hey," he says as he enters her apartment. "Thanks a lot."

"No problem."

She waits until he removes his shoes before leading him further into the living room. Tifa sits, legs crossed, balancing her laptop on her knees. Across her, on the opposite end of the couch, Cloud takes out his materials.

"Which topic are you at right now?"

For the next hour and a half, they discuss liberal and neo-liberal theories; Tifa pulls out her notes for the class and does her best to help Cloud understand. He didn't lie when he said it wasn't his strength. She discovers he's definitely more at ease with his computer than with the concept of New Public Management, but she guesses it might be more a lack of basis in sociology than a capacity shortfall. Once he grasps the essence of the notions, the pieces of the puzzle appear to fall into place for him.

It's as they take a break and Tifa goes into the kitchen to get coffee and snacks that he mentions the recent addition to her living room.

"You play the piano?"

The question is innocent, she can tell. But the mass of emotions uncovered today coupled with his constant music being the trigger—it puts Tifa on the defensive. She brings back the food and coffee, and doesn't look at him when she hands him his mug.

"I did, yeah."

"It wasn't there—" He cuts himself off like he realized her words clash with the appearance of the instrument.

That he might be unto something has Tifa panic, and she says, "It was a good deal and I've been meaning to get back at it." Again, not a full truth, but neither is it a full lie.

Cloud doesn't look for hidden meaning into her words. "That's nice. Did you play classical?"

The hint of curiosity that flares up in his voice doesn't escape her. "Yeah, mostly. I don't want to pry, but…" She gives him a sheepish smile. "You've been putting on a lot of classical piano. Do you have an interest?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Cloud clears his throat. A flush darkens his cheeks. "I didn't realize you could hear my music. Sorry about that."

She shrugs. "The walls are thin, it's not your fault. And I don't mind." She reins in the _not really, not until today_.

"But yeah, I like classical."

"Any favorites?"

The question gets out unbidden, and she curses herself for carrying on this conversation. Wasn't piano a topic she wanted to avoid?

"Some, but honestly, I'll listen to whatever sounds good to me." He chuckles as if a little embarrassed by his own admission. "What about you?"

There it is, Tifa realizes, this is what she doesn't want to talk about—not so much the piano itself, but the piano and _her_.

"I like Debussy," she says, holding in a wince at the shortness of her answer.

It doesn't go past Cloud, and the brightness of his eyes dim. She bites her tongue, angry at herself, but doesn't bring the subject back. Silence takes over, not the good kind that settles between friends; there's a certain tension in the air Tifa can't hide from. Right as she goes to speak, Cloud's phone lights up. Like clockwork, he checks it, only to scowl. This time, however, he types an answer.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her quiet voice exposing some of her worry. "Every time you get a message, you look…" She trails off when his head snaps up.

Cloud inhales, exhales, finishes his message, and then puts the phone down. His legs sprawled before him; his laptop forgotten on the coffee table; one arm thrown over the back of the sofa—if she wasn't starting to know better, she'd think him at ease.

"I look angry?"

"Not exactly." Tifa brings her knees up and rests her chin on them. "More like…frustrated and troubled."

He rubs his eyes and keeps his hand up, hiding from her gaze. "You're not wrong."

Tifa doesn't push, feeling like he's just taking a break; he continues after a moment.

"My brother… he's been acting differently these days. I'm not—" He removes his hand only to mess with his hair. "I don't know what's going on now."

"Now?" She keeps her voice soft. "It's not the first time it happens?"

"I'm not sure, that's the problem. He's always been very private. We never got along that well as teens, so when he started sending me messages all the time, I knew something was off. And I guess…it's frustrating because I have no fucking clue what to do. He almost never picks up when I call, so forget having proper conversations." Cloud halts, his irritation fizzling out. "Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear all that."

"It's fine." At his surprise, she adds, "I wouldn't ask otherwise. You can talk about it whenever you want."

Cloud blinks several times as if taken aback by her words. It makes Tifa self-conscious, but she doesn't shy away from his stare.

"Okay. Thank you," he says at last. The gentleness of his voice isn't what she had anticipated, but she's happy to hear it.

Tifa smiles. "That's good. So, want to carry on studying or…?"

"Honestly?" Cloud slides down further into the couch. "Fuck sociology."

"Watch what you're saying," she mock-gasps.

He laughs, the deep, hushed sound rolling over her. If only he laughed more, she thinks.

"All right, I didn't mean that." Cloud throws his hands up in defense. "Sociology is the shit."

Tifa shakes her head. "What an apology."

"Come on, you know I was being sincere."

"Uh-uh."

Cloud sits up straight; his lips tilt up in a smile. "What can I do to earn your forgiveness, then?"

The flirty undertone of his question startles Tifa; unsure if she read the atmosphere right and not wanting to make him uncomfortable, she recovers with the first thing that comes to mind.

"You could start by opening the door to your food deliveries."

"I've been making efforts." His smile evolves into a smirk. "Nothing else?"

Struck speechless for a few seconds, Tifa can only stare at him. Once she recovers, her eyebrows shoot up, expressing her disbelief. "What can I ask?"

He lets out another brief laugh. "Up to you."

The happy glint in his eyes warms her; still, her mind blanks. Everything that comes to mind seems too much or not enough, and the anxiety at being wrong in her interpretation ties her tongue.

Finally, she grabs the closest notebook lying on the couch and brings it up to read, too high for it to be natural, so he can only see her eyes. "I'll think about it."

If her goal had been to deter him, she would have failed. Cloud grins. "I'll be waiting."

Tifa hums a noncommittal answer, grateful for the notebook hiding her blush. When Cloud's phone brightens up with a message again and he doesn't notice, Tifa keeps silent, not wanting the light in his eyes to go out.

As Cloud asks her about ecological questions and capitalism, and her heart beats a little faster, she wonders what the hell she got herself into—again


	3. Nocturne Op.48 no.1 in C Minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing feedback/response to this story!  
> FYI: I bumped the rating from Mature to Explicit for the rest of the story and added some tags.  
> And a little suggestion: if you want to listen to this chapter’s piece, I recommend Moravec’s recording of it (or for any of Chopin’s Nocturnes). Rubinstein’s is also great.  
> —  
> Nocturne Op.48 no.1 - Chopin

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **3:** Nocturne Op.48 no.1 in C Minor

—

Tifa is six the first time she plays the piano.

Sure, she’s seen a piano before—they have one at home after all. And she knows that if you press on the keys, it makes noise. She giggles with childish pleasure every time she smashes her hands on the piano and her Dad sighs— _Tifa, please_. It’s always her Mom who smiles and laughs at the noise— _Let her, that’s how it starts._ Tifa doesn’t know _what_ is supposed to start, but she trusts her Mom, so she doesn’t ask questions.

But one day, making noise isn’t enough anymore. The noise she creates is chaotic and loud, and Tifa prefers the noise her Mom makes. It can be gentle or angry or lively or make her want to cry—but it’s always _beautiful_. Beauty is the constant between her mother and her. They find it in the music that unites them. In their secret nightly practices, her Dad sound asleep upstairs. In her mother’s proud smile when Tifa finishes a performance, and their eyes meet across the room. In the quiet moments where her Mom’s head swings softly from side to side, the ones where she is lost in her world—Tifa asks _Which song are you listening to?_ Most times, the answer is accompanied by a loving smile and a wink, but the words are always the same— _Your song, sweetheart_. For the longest time, Tifa asked _When can I hear my song?_ but her mother only closed her eyes and hugged her close, and Tifa was left without an answer. One day, she stopped asking.

The moment Tifa tugs at her mother’s skirt and declares _I want to play like you_ , her life changes. With tears in her eyes, her Mom kneels so they can look at each other with no distance between them, and says _I would love nothing more than to teach you, but you will never play like me—you will always play like_ you _._ The words confuse Tifa, so she focuses on the part she understands and jumps from joy at the confirmation she will play piano. When they sit on the bench together and Tifa learns her first scale, it opens something within her. The way the notes complement and lean into each other, sounding just _right_ —her small fingers fumble on the keys, but she gets it, eventually. When she does, she looks at her mother with a bright smile and her Mom smiles back.

The connection between her mother and her—it opens in C Minor with vivid but simple chords and evolves as time goes by—arpeggios and chromatics and broken chords and octaves melding together to form something that is _theirs_. The tempo switches with the years— _lento, andante, vivace, movimento—_ never staying still, always dynamic. Tifa imagines a sprawling, forever-changing piece, her mother and her as the only theme; it goes and on, sometimes slowing but never ending—it can’t end, Tifa thinks, or she will get lost in disjunct melodies and dissonant harmonies.

And yet, deep within her, in a place she locks away, Tifa knows all things must end.

When Tifa is sixteen, the world shifts on its axis. They enter a tumultuous section, heavy chords played _agitato_ and _fortissimo_ until it plummets in an expressive rhapsody, the violence and majesty of the double octaves arpeggios a reflection of her soul’s disquietude. Tifa cannot accept the culmination point she senses is coming, measures after measures, because it means the music will fall only to quieten forever.

There is no denying the paleness of her mother’s cheeks or her arduous breathing or the weakness of her limbs. Tifa plays one night, a new piece she’s wanted to learn for the longest time. It’s a work in progress still, but she’s proud of herself and wants her Mom to listen. As she lifts her hands from the keys, the last chord echoing in the living room, Tifa turns to her mother to find her collapsed on the carpeted floor. Her yells and pleas wake up her father, who had fallen asleep to the lullaby of the piano—he thunders down the stairs, and minutes later, they rush to the hospital.

Her mother is dying—that is the only thing Tifa retains. She has a few months, but there is nothing to be done other than relieving her. The palliative care wing is a calm, hushed, sorrowful place. Tifa spends the next two months there. She turns seventeen in her mother’s hospital room; she falls asleep in a chair, holding her Mom’s hand, and wakes up to a soft voice filling the air. Her mother hums with a tender smile. She says _Happy birthday, sweetheart_ , _I love you_ , and Tifa sobs as she realizes those are words she’ll never hear again—not with the same lilting voice or the same love, not from the person who matters the most. Once the tears slow—they never truly dry—Tifa asks, for the first time in years, _Was that my song?_ even though she doesn’t expect an answer. But this is not the time for secrets anymore, and her mother stares at her with both serenity and sadness.

_Your song, Tifa, is not something you can hear. It’s who you are. It’s the music you create as you smile at me or laugh with your Dad. I find it in everything you do and say, sweetheart. I love it most when you play for me and I can see how happy that makes you. Will you play for me, sweetheart? I want to hear you again. I want to see you happy again._

So Tifa plays. She digs out every piece she’s learned in the last years, everything her Mom loved. There is no time to learn anything new; the days slip by too fast and what little time they have is too precious. Tifa records herself on her phone whenever she can, and the peace that lulls her mother whenever the recordings play justifies any sacrifices. The last piece she learned before her mother’s collapse is Chopin’s Nocturne in C Minor. It is the most challenging one, and Tifa is far from having mastered it. But she finds it doesn’t matter, not for this. Her Mom will love it, even with missteps.

Her mother dies at night; she has become too weak to speak, but her eyes still tell stories. Tifa sits down on her left, her father on the right. The Nocturne fills the silence between them. Tifa looks at her mother, looks at her mouthing words she doesn’t have the strength to utter. But Tifa doesn’t need to hear the words to understand— _I know, I know you love me_ , _I love you too_. In the darkness, the music grows until it crowds the small space. It reminds Tifa of the nightly practices they had, and for a moment, if she closes her eyes, all could be right—but she doesn’t, knowing it’s a lie.

With her head leaned back and a tired smile, her Mom listens to Tifa playing. The rise and fall of her chest slows as the Nocturne advances. The melody swells then falls into a slow tempo, each note softer than the last, until the last chords are laid down with the lightest touch.

Her mother closes her eyes, forever surrendering to the music.

And Tifa knows, as she grasps her mother’s limp hand and sobs with enough force to rack her body—she knows her heart has fractured and the pieces have scattered, taking away what she loved most. Nothing can mend the wreck her mangled soul has become.

Fear and hatred replace her love for music—she realizes it after her father asks _Do you want to play at the funeral?_ Tifa agrees; it seems like the most perfect of farewells for her mother. And yet—she can’t bring herself to play. When she walks into the room where the funeral is held and she sees the piano in the corner, Tifa’s hands grow damp, her pulse drums fast—too fast—in her throat, and her stomach turns and turns and—and—she’s going to be sick. As she comes back from the bathroom and her gaze finds the piano again, all Tifa can hear is the Nocturne in C Minor; all she can see is her mother smiling as she fades away. Tifa tells her father and the man in charge that she won’t play. Her Dad has tears in his eyes but holds them back for her sake. Tifa can tell the tears aren’t because she won’t play; her father’s tears are for the realization she has lost something that is so intrinsically, so intensely part of who she is.

Her mother’s favorite song replaces Tifa’s playing. It’s a beautiful song, one her Mom sang often, but the moment it starts, Tifa cries. It feels _wrong_ , so so wrong. This isn’t what her Mom would have wanted, isn’t it? Tifa couldn’t give her that last thing, couldn’t bid her farewell in the language of music— _their_ language. Her father wraps his arms around her, and it is the support she needs. Still, her regret only grows as the song goes on. If only, she thinks, if only, _if only_ —

If only she had the courage to play. If only she hadn’t let her mother’s hand go. If only she hadn’t watched the life leave her body as piano filled the air. The thoughts spiral down, down, until she reaches the bottom, and she hates her six years old self for tugging on her Mom’s skirt and saying the words that changed her life.

She cannot play piano anymore, and so she buries the passion she nurtured all her life; the soil of its grave becomes the bed for regret to plant itself in her heart. The yawning roots spread far; sorrow and remorse bloom inside her, flowers that trickle poison throughout her body.

At times, the self-condemnation eases, only to slowly and terribly return. That’s the thing with regret—it can build on forever, multiplying until it blinds even the most logical person. It never ends.

Regret hands her a blindfold, and Tifa is desperate to put it on. She doesn’t take it off. She _doesn’t want_ to take it off. Regret swirls around her, deadly fingers caressing her cheek, murmuring saccharine lies in her ears. Tifa gets used to them until they are not lies anymore.

Those whispers, that darkness—they are her home now.

(Back in the house she grew up in, in the house she shared with her mother, the piano collects dust, a vestige of the past.)

—

For the next three weeks following her impulsive purchase, Tifa doesn’t touch the piano. There’s something about taking out her partitions, sitting down, and playing that makes it all real—too real. Each morning, she looks at the piano with longing or misgiving, sometimes both. Each night, before going to bed, she slows by the instrument but never stops.

If someone were to ask her why she doesn’t play her new piano, Tifa would say whatever believable lie came to mind then. But no one asks her—and she wants it that way, not ready to admit her fear in front of others. Tension grows within her, threatening to burst her heart apart. She curses herself for buying that goddamn piano on most days, but there are some where she remembers the joy it brought her—and her mother. The bad days eclipse the good ones.

There has been less classical music coming from Cloud’s apartment since the day he played Arabesque. Considering what Zack told her, Tifa assumes it’s positive. Part of her misses the sound of the piano, though, but that’s not something she’ll willing to admit yet.

On Tuesday, she meets Cloud in front of the building, a new routine they’ve developed since that first study session; they both have a class at 8:30 that day. When she proposed to drive him, his mouth slackened, like he couldn’t believe her, but he accepted quickly enough.

The sunny weather makes Tifa smile despite the temperature dropping as they enter November. Her jacket is barely enough to ward off the morning’s chill, and she burrows deeper into it, shoving her hands in the pockets.

“Good morning.”

Cloud twists his head to look at her. “Hey.”

“Are you ready for your sociology midterm?” Tifa asks as they get into the car.

“Don’t talk about that,” Cloud groans. “It’s in two weeks.”

She laughs. “If you say so.”

“Though,” Cloud starts with a teasing lilt to his voice, “I could always use your help.”

“Riiiight.”

He fiddles with the radio, setting the volume low. “Friday?”

“Sure, but you bring the food.”

“Deal.”

Cloud browses through the radio stations, choosing a classical one. A familiar piano piece rings out, and Tifa feels her heart drop. She hasn’t heard the Nocturne in C Minor since—since—

“Change the station.”

Cloud frowns at her curt tone. “Uh, sure.”

He doesn’t move fast enough for her taste—the piece is at its end, and she doesn’t want to hear it, _she_ _doesn’t want to hear it_ —

“Turn it off!”

She doesn’t mean to raise her voice, but her agitation gets the better of her. Before he can react, she slams her hand on the volume dial. Tifa keeps her eyes on the road, not wanting to look at Cloud. Despite her best efforts, her hands tremble on the steering wheel and she senses the tears rising up.

“Are you okay?”

It’s the softness of his voice that breaks her. Tifa pulls the car over; keeping on driving isn’t the safe choice. She forces herself to inhale and exhale deeply, but it doesn’t drag the panic away.

“Tifa—”

“Can you leave?” Tifa closes her eyes, hoping the lack of stimuli will help her calm down. “Please,” she adds as he stays silent.

“I can stay, I—”

His protest is too much, and the word leaves her mouth in a sob, “ _Please_.”

“Okay, okay.” The alarm in his voice is clear. “I’ll wait outside.”

No, no, no—she doesn’t want him to _wait_ and see her like this.

She hears Cloud get out of the car; he says something else before closing the door. “I don’t want to leave you like that… Take all the time you need, I’ll drive us after, okay?”

Tifa nods, past the point of caring as long as he shuts the door and leaves her alone. Her hands come up to hide her face; the illusion of being alone soothes her a little. The cacophony of the city becomes white noise until she can focus only on herself. In and out—she has to breathe in, breathe out. Some tears fall, but she lets them. Time doesn’t exist as she attempts to regain control of herself. She hadn’t expected to hear _that_ ; if she had, maybe her reaction would have been different, but Tifa knows dwelling on alternatives won’t help her. Her senses went haywire, assailing her all at once. She had smelled the lingering scent of antiseptic and the perfume of the flowers her father had brought; had felt the thin skin of her mother’s hand under hers; had seen that final, worn-out smile her Mom had given her; had heard that goddamn piano waning as her Mom exhaled for the last time.

She has no idea how long she stays in the car, but when she’s evened out her breathing and her hands don’t shake anymore, she looks for Cloud. Anxiety mingles with gratitude at the sight of him sitting on a bench further down the street. He’s far enough to give her the impression of privacy. In spite of her earlier objection, Tifa is glad he didn’t leave. Now that the wave of emotions is gone, she finds she wouldn’t want to be alone.

Cloud glances up and puts his phone away when she sits next to him. Tifa tugs on the sleeves of her oversized jacket, a part of her wishing she could be swallowed whole and disappear.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks when it becomes clear she won’t talk first.

Tifa nods.

“That’s good… Do you still want to go to class?”

“I probably should,” she says.

“Okay, then I’ll drive us.” Cloud gets to his feet, halting when she grabs his hand. He turns to her, inquisitive, and she lets go now that she has his attention.

Tifa clears her throat. “I should, but I don’t want to. I can drop you at school.”

“Oh.” He takes off his cap to ruffle his hair. “I’d rather stay with you.”

“Look, I’m fine, it was just…” She trails off, unsure how to explain her reaction. “I don’t need you to stay with me.”

Cloud stares at her for a moment before saying, “If you want to be alone, then okay. But if you don’t, I’ll stay with you.”

Tifa bites her lip, not sure what to choose. She wants to be alone for the simple reason that no one will ask questions then. But the truth is she’d rather be with someone right now. Aerith would come running if Tifa called her, and she considers it. They’ve been friends for three years now, and Aerith knows about her history with piano. On the other hand, Cloud is her neighbor and a new friend—he won’t be as likely to pry. If he does, she’ll say she doesn’t want to talk.

“Well, if you don’t mind,” she says as she stands up.

He puts the cap back on and smiles. “I don’t. Anything you wanna do?”

“You know what?” She blows out a breath. “I want to have breakfast.”

“Perfect,” he laughs. “I’m starving.”

“Don’t you eat in the morning?”

They start walking, Tifa leading them towards a nearby breakfast place she knows.

“Not really,” Cloud admits. “I don’t get hungry right after I wake up, and I usually wake up twenty minutes before I have to leave. The hunger hits right as class starts.”

“What terrible eating habits. No breakfast, takeout.” Tifa manages to form a tiny smile to let him know she’s not serious. “Don’t tell me you eat cereals for supper?”

Cloud shrugs. “Sometimes.”

The restaurant is small and cozy. The waitress leads them to a table in the back and serves them coffee. Cloud takes a sip of his as soon as she leaves. For her part, Tifa doesn’t touch it. Her heart still races from her earlier episode and drinking coffee won’t help. They make their choice in silence and give their orders to the waitress. Once she’s gone, Tifa’s nervousness returns and only increases at the concerned glint in Cloud’s eyes. But he doesn’t ask what happened, not directly.

“Does it bother you when I play classical music?” He holds her gaze, and she can’t hide from the genuine consideration he exudes.

“No.” Tifa sighs at her dishonesty and concedes, “Not that much.”

“I’ll lower the volume so you don’t hear it.”

“It’s fine. Cloud, it’s fine,” she repeats at his disbelieving expression. “It was the piece itself that—” She pauses to keep her calm, not wanting to relive the experience again. “The music you play is fine. As long as it’s not that piece.”

Cloud nods once, twice, like he’s absorbing her words. “Do you mind telling me the name? So I can avoid playing it.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. It’s Chopin’s Nocturne in C Minor.”

He writes it down in his phone; her surprise must show because he says, “I don’t want you to go through that again.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “That’s... Thanks, Cloud.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They chat through their meal, an easy atmosphere settling between them. Tifa is grateful for his thoughtfulness and the lack of invasive questions. She wouldn’t even know where to begin if she had to explain. The void inside her is gaping in a way she can’t put into words.

When they leave the restaurant, the sun has receded behind a heavy cover of clouds. Tifa pouts at the sudden gloominess.

“This weather sucks.”

Cloud looks down at his phone. “Says it’s gonna rain soon.”

“We should head back, then.”

She only makes it five steps before noticing Cloud didn’t follow. Tifa turns back and comes to his side. Cloud is still looking at his phone.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah…” He sighs. “It’s weird, he’s bringing up random shit from years ago.”

Cloud leans against the brick wall, getting out of the way of passers-by; Tifa does the same.

“Things that happened between you two?”

“Not even, no. He texted me to say he bumped into a girl I used to see. And then—” He shakes his head. “In short, he uses her as an example to accuse me of not treating people right. As if he knows what even happened with her.”

Tifa frowns. “He really said that?”

“Pretty much. I don’t get it.” Frustration enters his voice. “I don’t understand why he would do that. We’re not close, but I’m not going around accusing him at random.” He raises his head and puts the phone away. “Nothing went wrong with her as far as I know. I mean, Jessie knew I don’t do girlfriends, and that was fine with her. When we stopped seeing each other, it was mutual.” Cloud shoves his hands in his pockets. “So unless she mentioned something to him, I don’t understand why he’d say that.”

For some reason, his casual remark about not having girlfriends doesn’t surprise Tifa, though it does bring back the first time he flirted with her three weeks back. But for now, she pushes the thought aside.

“He might be mad at something and taking it out on you,” Tifa says. She props her leg up against the wall and watches as people go about their morning. “You could call him later, ask him what’s up.”

“You’re right, I’m just… I’m fed up,” Cloud admits. “I want to help him if something is wrong, but he’s not making it easy.”

She elbows him. “Show him you’re there for him. Actions speak louder than words and all that.”

“Yeah. I’ll try to call him again later.” He twists his head to look at her. “Still feeling okay?”

The question throws her back to her episode, but it doesn’t overwhelm her; she takes it as a good sign.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Look—” He hesitates for a second. “If the music I put on ever makes you uncomfortable, please tell me.”

“I already told you, I don’t mind it.” Most of it.

“Tifa,” he says, almost a whisper. “I don’t want you to think I’m prying, but just know that if you need someone to listen, I’ll be there.”

Her throat closes up, preventing her from speaking, so she nods. Vulnerability seizes her and makes it hard to find words, anyway. The last person who saw her have this kind of reaction was her father before she left for Midgar, three years ago. Though Aerith knows the extent of her pain in a way Cloud doesn’t, she’s never witnessed Tifa losing control over herself. Cloud has seen a part of her she never wanted to expose to anyone, and she can’t act like it won’t shift the flow of their interactions.

Cloud doesn’t push her for an answer beyond her brief nod; he pushes away from the wall right as it begins to rain and brings the hood of his jacket over his hair. Tifa does the same.

“Shit. Come on.”

They take off towards her car, speeding up as the rain gets stronger. Once in the car, Tifa turns up the heat and asks, “I’m going back home. Is there anywhere you want me to drop you?”

“School, if that’s alright with you? I have a class later I should really attend.”

The drive to the university is filled with idle chatter. Cloud doesn’t turn on music this time. Once they arrive, he pauses, one hand on the door handle.

“I’ll be okay,” Tifa says with a smile.

He still doesn’t exit the car. “Let me know if there’s something I can do to help, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I will.” To her shock, she finds she means it. “Now go.”

“I’ll see you Friday,” he says as he gets out. The door shuts behind him as he runs for the nearest entrance.

Tifa waits until he disappears inside the building before leaving. This morning has exhausted her, and when she gets into her apartment, she heads for her bedroom, falling face-first on the bed. She doesn’t want to think about what happened. She just wants to sleep. It doesn’t take long before her eyes close.

In her dreams, there is no more music.


	4. Impromptu Op.90 No.2 in E-flat Major

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I don't have much to say other than I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> —
> 
> Impromptu Op.90 No.2 in E-flat Major – Schubert

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **4:** Impromptu Op.90 No.2 in E-flat Major

—

"It's time we speak of the piano."

With a sigh, Tifa lifts her head to look at her friend. "Hi to you too."

Aerith sits across Tifa; she crosses her arms over her bag and rests on it. "Yes, yes. Good afternoon. Now, tell me about the piano."

"Do I have to?" Tifa focuses on her laptop, putting the finishing touches to an assignment. "It was an impulsive purchase."

"A piano is _not_ an impulsive purchase," Aerith says. "Not in your case."

Tifa glances at her, then back to her assignment. Though she doesn't want to discuss this, she can see from Aerith's determined expression that she won't let this go. "I disagree."

"Of course you do. It's the only way you can justify this to yourself."

"Aerith," Tifa says, a wisp of annoyance in her voice, "just say what you have to say."

Her friend takes a moment to think, then says, "It was a long time coming. And it's a good thing. So, I'd rather you admitted to yourself you bought a piano because you want to play again. Because you miss it."

Tifa knows there's some truth to Aerith's words. But it's one thing to recognize it and another to admit it—and Tifa isn't ready for the latter. Her emotions about the piano are too jumbled, too complex for her to say a simple _yes, I want to play again_. Because while she does wish it was the case, she also wishes she'd never played at all.

"It's complicated," is all Tifa can bring herself to say.

Aerith hums. "No one is saying it isn't. Have you played yet?" When she gets no reply, she goes on, softer this time, "Maybe you need to find a reason to play. A new one."

Her words hit too close to home for Tifa; her breakdown three days ago is still fresh in her mind, and she's not up to talk about finding new reasons when she can't let go of the old one.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Tifa says as she saves her assignment and closes the laptop, "but this is not a conversation I want to have right now."

"I think you mean 'not anytime soon', but fine."

Aerith waves her hand around. The gesture is nonchalant, as if she doesn't mind, but Tifa knows better. Guilt snakes through her, making her hesitate until she remembers the suffocating, all-encompassing sensation the music brought her three days ago. Still, she doesn't want to leave things as they are.

"When I'm ready, we'll talk about it, okay?" Tifa gives her friend a smile. "I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

Tifa's phone lights up with a message, and she glances at the screen.

 **Mastermind:** _he's up to something. i can FEEL it._

She shakes her head _,_ quiet laughter escaping her. Aerith sends her an inquisitive glance.

"Zack is being a dumbass," Tifa says, showing her the message. "By the way, how did the make-up date go?"

Aerith grins as she hands back the phone. "Great, actually. We have another one this weekend."

Tifa opens her mouth to answer but closes it as she reads another message.

 **Mastermind:** _i saw that reaction, neighbor. ye of little faith._

Tifa twists around in her seat _,_ searching for him. The cafeteria they are in is relatively busy, but she spots him fast enough; his wide, amused smile makes it easy. Zack waves at her, then nudges the person sitting next to him—Cloud, she realizes with no surprise. Cloud raises his head, but she turns around before he can meet her eyes. They haven't seen each other since Tuesday. When she woke up from her nap that day, the awareness that she had a breakdown before her neighbor—friendly as they are—hit her with unrestrained strength, and it hasn't subdued since. It's not his reaction that upset her; she appreciated his presence and lack of questions, which helped her get her mind off the situation. Rather, it's the concept of after—of being around him like he didn't see a part of her she locks away. She's not sure that's something she can manage.

"Oh, speak of the devil."

Aerith's teasing tone lets Tifa know the guys have made their way over. She takes a steadying breath when the chair next to hers is pulled back and someone sits down.

"Hey."

Cloud's voice makes her look up—she can't ignore them now. Zack sat next to Aerith; he winks at her as he drops his arm over the back of Aerith's chair.

"What's up, neighbor?"

The casual greeting helps Tifa relax a little. "Just finished an assignment due next week."

"So organized," Zack says with a pitying expression. "Where's the fun in that?"

Tifa rolls her eyes but dismisses his comment. "What is Reno up to now?"

"Hard to tell. It's all in his eyes. They have this evil glint." Zack takes in her are-you-serious look. "Watch it happen, neighbor."

"I've seen you before," Aerith blurts. There's no doubt she's speaking to Cloud. "But I'm not sure where."

Cloud looks away from his phone; Tifa can see he's typing a message. "Yeah, I helped get you home when you were drunk. I'm Cloud, Tifa's neighbor."

"Oh." Aerith smirks, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "I didn't know Tifa's neighbor was this cute."

"I'm cuter," Zack says at once. "Definitely cuter."

As they bicker, Tifa pulls her braid over her shoulder and plays with the end, needing to move to expel her nervous energy. She still hasn't looked directly at Cloud, afraid of what she'll see. Apprehension wars within her. On one hand, him acting as usual is what she wants; it's what she expects, really. But part of her also dreads the idea of normal interactions with him, because to her, they _can't_ be normal anymore.

Her phone indicates another message, and she brings it up to read; it's from Cloud. She blinks her surprise away as she reads it.

 **Cloud:** _everything okay? it's like you're far away_

Aerith and Zack are still immersed in their conversation, and she hears Cloud jump in, though he keeps his phone in hand, the messaging app open. Tifa hesitates for a second before typing _i'm fine, just tired_. But she doesn't send it. Something about the dishonesty of her message strikes her as wrong. Cloud shared his problems with his brother, and though she doesn't believe she owes him anything in return, she also doesn't want to squander the trust he's showed her. So she deletes the message and starts over.

 **Tifa:** _i'm a bit anxious. i don't want what happened tuesday to change the way you view me_

From the corner of her eyes, Tifa takes in Cloud's reaction—his forehead mars with a frown, his eyes narrow. Across of them, Zack is still talking, but Aerith is looking at Tifa as if sensing her discomfort; she's always had a sixth sense for this, and Tifa both loves and hates it. But something about her body language must tell Aerith not to push right now as she turns to Zack and carries on their conversation. Tifa isn't even listening—all she can concentrate on are the little dots jumping on the screen. She has the fleeting thought their texting is stupid considering they're next to each other, but then she realizes Cloud did that to avoid bringing attention to her awkwardness in front of the others.

 **Cloud:** _i don't understand why it'd change anything_

Tifa goes to reply, but no words come to mind. Nothing might have shifted for him—he's not the one who broke down after all. She's just reading too much into possibilities that will never be. It becomes overwhelming suddenly—all those emotions she's keeping down, all those maybe's. Deep inside her, a beast worms its way through her mind, her body, and she can only watch as it wreaks havoc, contaminating everything it touches. Thoughts tumble one after the other, bumping and running into the other until they fall like dominos. At the center of it all is the notion that she should never have bought that fucking piano—all it's done is bring repressed pain and unwanted memories to the surface.

So Tifa puts down the phone and turns to look outside the window. She hears her friends' voices now as if her mind synched back with reality. Zack is complaining he didn't eat enough; Aerith teases him, saying why don't they go get something then? Tifa closes her eyes in resignation; her friend is doing it on purpose to leave her alone with Cloud. Fucking sixth sense. Clothes rustling and chairs scraping let her know they left. She hears Cloud moving, feels his hand drop on the back of her chair, senses his body leaning towards hers. Still, she can't bring herself to face him, too afraid to face both him and herself.

"Hey, c'mon," he says, his voice as soft as can be. "Nothing's changed."

"That's the problem," Tifa replies. "For me, it has changed."

She almost jumps when his hand comes to rest on her back between her shoulder blades, but the gesture loosens something insider her, and she relaxes a little.

"Then tell me _what_ changed."

Tifa finally turns her head to face him. Cloud's worried expression breaks through whatever barriers she had left.

"Cloud, you saw—you saw a part of me no one but my Dad has ever seen. Maybe it's fine with you, but it's _not_ fine with me. I'm not sure how to act around you anymore." His hand withdraws back to his side; she gulps down her anxiety to push through. "When I see you, I can't help but think of my freak out, and I start wondering what you think, if you're just being nice, if—"

"Hey, hey, hey. I'm gonna stop you there." Cloud scoots his chair closer until their knees brush. "Listen to me. We're friends, right?"

Tifa twirls the end of her braid around a finger. "I'd like to think so," she says, quiet.

"Then you know I wouldn't bother if it was just a matter of being polite." He catches onto her nervous gesture and reaches out to pull her hand away from her braid, then lets it go. "C'mon, Tifa, I think by now you know I only spend time with people I like."

"I know," Tifa whispers. "I know—it's just that this is something I never share." She laces her fingers together to keep from fidgeting again. "I want things to stay the same, but it's hard for me to imagine they can. I'm just…self-conscious about it."

He shifts in his seat, and his knee presses against her leg. "We can talk about what happened if it'd help."

But that is exactly what Tifa doesn't want—to open the chasm even wider; to allow for even more darkness to escape. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath before sitting straight. Though her insecurities haven't disappeared, she finds their conversation helped soothe them.

"It's fine, but thank you."

Cloud stays silent a moment, his stare intent on her face as if searching for something. Tifa faces forward to avoid it. His fingers graze her elbow to bring her attention back to him, but she only slants her head a bit to show she's listening.

"Tell me how I can help."

"It's—it's fine, Cloud." She musters a tentative smile. "Just keep on being you. You've been helpful and supportive. And so mindful of what happened, I can't ask for more. This is all about me being weird."

"Alright." There's an unsure note in his voice as he asks, "So we're still good for tutoring later?"

"We are."

Cloud runs his hand through his hair, and she has the impression he's debating something before he says, "You've really helped me so far. I could manage for the rest if you're not feeling like it."

"Oh, you'd manage?"

"Probably." Cloud's dry tone makes her chuckle.

"Don't be stupid," she says as she punches his arm lightly. "You said I could ask for something to earn your forgiveness, right?" Tifa's smile widens as his eyebrows go up out of curiosity. "I want you to pass your exam next week."

He groans at that. "You don't play fair."

Tifa shrugs. "You said it was up to me."

"Yeah, yeah." He blows out a breath and gives her a wry glance. "Not what I had in mind."

"No?" she asks, all innocence. She can guess what it was from the times he's flirted with her.

A faint smirk curls his lips; it spells trouble, and Tifa can't deny she looks forward to it.

"If I study hard enough, it'll be my turn to ask for something," he says as he gives her braid a gentle tug.

"If you pass your exam, you mean."

There's no hiding from the expectant twinkle in his eyes. "Or both." Cloud bends forward until he is close enough to whisper in her ear. "I have a lot of requests."

Tifa can sense the heat spreading from her neck to her cheeks, but she doesn't pull away—she doesn't want to. "Hm. What kind of requests are we talking about?"

Cloud slants his body back a little; he's still close, closer than he'd normally be. "You'll see tonight."

"Oh, I will?"

She bites her bottom lip, an unconscious habit. Cloud's gaze strays down to her mouth, then back up to her eyes, and he nods.

"Hey, c'mon, we're gonna be late for Hojo's class!"

Zack's voice startles them both; he and Aerith stand a few meters away from the table, and relief flows through Tifa. They couldn't have heard them. There's something about her interaction with Cloud that makes her want to keep it to herself, a secret belonging to the two of them. Cloud frowns, clearly annoyed at the interruption, but he smooths his expression before turning around.

"Since when do you care?"

Zack crosses his arms. " _You_ care. I'm just being a wonderful friend."

"Alright, give me a second." Cloud faces Tifa again as he pockets his phone. "I'll be there around eight?"

"Okay," she replies, her voice low.

He tugs on her braid again and says, "Later," before walking towards Zack.

Aerith tells them goodbye and comes back to the table. Tifa pretends to be busy with her laptop again as her friend sits across her and tries to catch her eyes.

"He's cute," Aerith says with a grin.

"He is." Tifa does her best to keep her tone even. There's no point in denying Cloud is attractive.

Aerith rests her chin on her folded hands and stares at Tifa as she awaits more details.

"I'm tutoring him for a sociology class. That's all." Tifa swallows back the _for now_.

"Does he have a special someone?" Aerith waggles her eyebrows, her amusement obvious.

Tifa doesn't look up from putting unnecessary finishing touches on her assignment. "No. He said he doesn't have girlfriends."

"Boo. Disappointing," Aerith sighs. " _But_ how come you know that?"

"He mentioned it casually once." Tifa prefers keeping the event of that day to herself on top of not wanting to reveal what Cloud told her about his brother.

Aerith hums. "Is the no-girlfriend thing a problem?"

At this, Tifa raises her head. "Why would it be?"

"Oh, come on." Aerith grins again. "I'm not _blind_."

After a moment of silence, Tifa says, "If something happens, it happens. I'm not looking for anything, and neither is he. So, no, the no-girlfriend thing is not a problem."

Aerith drums her fingers on the table; it's her usual I-know-you're-bullshitting-me gesture, like she's impatient for the other person to pedal back and admit the truth. But Tifa doesn't—she lets Aerith evacuate her discontent until her friend understands that Tifa is telling the truth. Only then does the drumming stop and Aerith lets the topic go.

—

It's nearing 8PM when Tifa gets back to her apartment. She acts on auto-pilot, climbing the stairs to her floor and unlocking her door, as she looks at her phone to respond to Zack.

 **Mastermind** : _the fucker paid me back. I told you so!!_

 **Neighbor:** _did he now_

 **Mastermind** : _i've apparently started a career as a stripper. got a lot of calls for bachelorette parties_

 **Neighbor:** _time to get that money, zack_

 **Mastermind:** _you know what, you're absolutely right. the worst thing i can do to him is get rich from this_

 **Neighbor:** _right. you know i was kidding?_

 **Mastermind:** _can't let such a chance pass by, neighbor._

 **Mastermind:** _hey_ _**Second in Command** _ _get in here._

Tifa shakes her head at his antics as she walks inside; she drops her bag on the floor and removes her jacket. After changing into comfortable clothes, she sits down on the couch and gets everything ready for the tutoring. Her hands freeze as she opens her old Sociology of the environment notebook; Cloud's words come back to her, and she wonders how much he meant them. The phone lights up with more messages, pulling her out of her thoughts.

 **Mastermind:** _hey asshole I know you saw my text_

 **Second in Command:** _what?_

 **Mastermind:** _finally. how about we start a side business??? 2 studs like us, we'd be a hit_

 **Second in Command:** _not interested_

 **Mastermind** : _how about you, neighbor?_

 **Neighbor:** _i'll pass, thanks_

 **Mastermind:** _think of the money, guys_

Tifa puts her phone on the couch with a shake of her head as someone knocks on her door.

"It's unlocked," she calls out, staying where she is.

"Hey." Footsteps echo as Cloud walks into the apartment. Tifa twists around to wave at him. He smiles back and drops two plastic containers on the kitchen table. Tifa can't say if she's disappointed or relieved when he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch like usual.

"What did you bring?" Tifa gestures at the food in the kitchen.

Cloud takes out his laptop and textbook. "Sandwiches and cookies."

"No cereals?"

"Thought about it," he says, taking her teasing in stride. "But I figured I might get shit from you if I did that."

"I would never." She chuckles at his 'really?' look. "Alright, let's revise for your midterm."

At the mention of the exam, Cloud smirks; there's nothing subtle about his expression now, not like when they were in the cafeteria. His eyes glitter when they rest on her, and his lips tilt into a genuine smile when she looks away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. But he says nothing about it, and they get on with the tutoring.

Close to two hours later, Tifa calls a stop to their revision of postmodern epistemology when it becomes clear Cloud isn't retaining a word of what he reads. He doesn't even notice she's stopped talking; his laptop holds his complete attention. Tifa watches as his brow furrows a little, as if whatever he's looking at puzzles him.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

Cloud glances up in surprise at her question. "Oh. Nothing." He clears his throat.

"What is it you don't want me to see?"

"It's nothing."

He makes a move to close the laptop, but Tifa moves faster than him. She bends forward, balancing on her knees, one hand on the back of the couch, and leans into his space to see the screen. Cloud freezes at her sudden movement and his laptop stays half-open.

Whatever Tifa had been expecting, it hadn't been the Wikipedia page for Schubert's Impromptus. It's her turn to become motionless; Cloud puts the laptop on the coffee table and it snaps her out of it. She sits back against the arm of the couch.

"I wouldn't call this studying hard," she says, injecting amusement in her voice. A part of her is apprehensive, wondering what prompted his sudden interest. She doesn't want to bring back the topic of Tuesday.

Cloud runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "I was until ten minutes ago."

"Sure."

He blows out a loud breath. "I saw your piano and I just… I got curious about that piece. So I looked it up and next thing I knew, I was down the Wikipedia rabbit hole." At her silence, he carries on, "I'm sorry, alright? I didn't want to bring it up and upset you."

"I'm not upset." She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "Taken by surprise, sure. But it's true I don't want to speak about that."

"Sorry," Cloud says again. "Let's go back to epistemology or whatever."

"Seriously?" She snorts. "Do you even care about this exam?"

"I care about aspects of it."

His tone leaves no doubt he's thinking of their previous conversation, and Tifa's heart beats a little faster. She plays with the end of her braid—it's not nervousness that has her restless, she realizes, but anticipation.

Both of their phones light up with new messages, and they give each other a knowing look. It can only be one person. Tifa checks hers first.

 **Mastermind:** _guys???_

 **Mastermind:** _more money for me_

"Do you think he'll actually go through with this?"

"The stripping?" Cloud rolls his eyes. "Probably. He'll do it just to spite Reno."

"And you won't join him? You'd be—how did he say… a hit?"

Cloud leans forward a little. "Oh, you think so?"

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "I don't see why not."

"All you have to do is ask."

Tifa lets out a laugh. "I'm not gonna ask you to _strip_."

He rests his elbow on the back of the sofa and slants closer. "You're right, you can't." At her curious glance, he adds, "It's _my_ turn to ask for something."

"I'm not sure you studied hard enough," Tifa teases.

His hand glides along her calf, and she feels the warmth of it through her leggings. He slides closer but makes sure not to crowd her with his presence.

"Are you going to tell me your request?" she asks, her voice soft, coaxing.

His grip on her leg tightens a little at her question. "You already know what I want," he murmurs. "Just tell me it's okay."

Tifa lowers her knees so they don't stand between them, forcing his hand to let go; she lessens whatever distance was left between them, enjoying the flash of pleased surprise in his eyes as she climbs on his lap to straddle him. She winds a hand through his hair, the blond strands silky against her palm, and whispers, "Okay."

She's not sure what she had expected. For his kiss to be as gentle and quiet as his usual demeanor, or maybe light and teasing like his flirting. But Cloud's kiss is slow and assertive, like he knows what he wants, and she realizes he does know—he wants _her_. Her other hand comes up to his chest, to his neck, and she finds herself wanting to be even closer to him. Cloud wordlessly grants her wish as one hand slides into her hair, and the other to her waist, his fingers brushing the sliver of exposed skin above her leggings. They don't stray further, nothing more than a playful touch that makes her shiver. Cloud feels her reaction, their closeness not allowing space for secrets to grow. Tifa sighs at the sudden hardness of his kiss, and the hand in her hair tightens in response.

"Cloud—"

He kisses his name away before drifting to her cheek, her jaw, her neck; his lips graze her skin when he rasps, "Yeah?"

"Touch me properly."

In answer, he nips her neck and slips the hand at her waist under her hoodie and tank top, applying pressure on her lower back until she curves fully into him.

"Like that?" he asks against her lips.

She hums. "It's a start. But I want more."

He backs off the smallest amount; the smile he gives her is warm and pleased. "Fuck. I've been wanting this ever since you told me you ate my food."

"You deserved me taking your food," she says with a smile as she unzips her hoodie and throws it away. Her loose braid slips over her shoulder. She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her body against his. Cloud kisses her again, rough and deep, and a muted whine escapes her when he gently bites her lower lip, then sucks on it in an apology.

"I did," he says between kisses on her neck, her collarbones, towards her shoulder. "Let me apologize for the trouble."

Taking one of his hands, Tifa slips it under her top, over her stomach, sliding it up and up until his thumb brushes her bra. Not needing another cue, Cloud brings his other hand up to move the straps of her tank top and bra out of the way.

"Uh-uh." She sucks in a sharp breath when the hand below her top slides under her bra; it's a graze of his fingers against the underside of her breast more than anything, but the promise of more sets her skin on fire and turns her voice husky. "What do you have in mind?"

She can feel his lips move in a smile against her shoulder. He lowers the straps on the other side, and her baggy top goes down her arms; her bra slides down enough to expose the top of her breasts. Tifa shifts so she can unhook her bra, the restraint otherwise uncomfortable. Once she does, it falls the rest of way, and Cloud groans, the sound swallowed by her skin. Tifa slips her hands under his T-shirt, stroking his skin with the lightest touch, then gently scraping her short nails over his stomach.

"A lot of things," he says as he pulls away from her and falls back on the couch. The look he sends her is appreciative, heavy-lidded, full of promises she wants him to fulfill. He grabs the back of her head and tugs her closer; their lips brush when he whispers, "I can't wait to see you come on my fingers."

His words ignite her; her hips rock against him without her meaning to, and she swallows his moan as she kisses him. "That's only one thing," she pants. This time, she moves on purpose, bearing down on him and swaying in his lap.

Cloud drops his forehead against her shoulder, speaking into her neck. "I better do well on my exam, then."

The buzzing of a phone pierces through the haze, and Tifa looks around, unfocused as Cloud's hand comes up to palm her breast. The source of the noise is Cloud's phone on the couch next to them. A photo of an older guy with long hair in a low bun brightens the screen, along with the name SEPH.

"Someone named Seph is calling you." She sighs the word when he strokes her nipple with his thumb. "Should you pick up?"

"My hands are kinda busy," Cloud says, punctuating his statement by dipping one of said hands past the waistband of her leggings and underwear to stroke her hip, then gliding it lower and lower. "I'll call him back tomorrow."

Tifa lets out a short whine as his fingers skim the junction of her thigh and hip. She faintly registers the phone falling silent at last—but then it starts again. Though she doesn't want to, she breaks away, but Cloud doesn't let her get far.

"He's not giving up," she says between kisses.

With a dismayed groan, Cloud draws back, sinking into the couch; one of his hand leaves her to grab the phone, the other one stays on her waist. "He never picks up, but he has to call at the worst time." His thumb hovers the screen.

"That's your brother? You should probably answer if he's finally calling back."

"Yeah." He exhales loudly before accepting the call. "Hey," he says into the phone. "What's up? Uh, that's weird." He pauses, listening to his brother on the other end. "Not sure what you mean, but sure."

Tifa hears his brother's muffled voice through the receiver as it rises in volume. Suddenly feeling shy, she shifts back a little as to give him the illusion of space, but Cloud wraps an arm around her, bringing her back to him. The move has her slide against his lap, flush against his hardness over the material of his jeans. She moans without meaning to, then slaps her hand against her mouth in mortification, her wide eyes meeting Cloud's surprised ones. His mouth hangs open a bit as he stares at her, not listening to his brother anymore, but then his lips tilt up in a playful smile. He startles when Seph calls his name loudly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," he says, and she marvels at his even tone. "So what was it you wanted to tell me?"

It's Tifa's turn to jump when she feels Cloud's hand leave her waist and slide past her leggings and underwear. Her hand tightens on his shoulder; part of her means it as a warning, another just needs something to hold on as his fingers slip over her. She's glad she kept her other hand over her mouth as he thrusts into her and she lets out another whimper. Cloud's eyes don't stray from her face as he keeps giving his brother one-word answers, clearly not paying attention to what he says. But then again, neither is Tifa as Cloud's thumb presses against her clit and his fingers curl inside her.

"Hey, do you think I could call you tomorrow?" Cloud's voice is both too near and too far. She slants forward into his chest, hiding her face into the soft fabric of his T-shirt. One hand clasps his shoulder in a harsh grip as he doesn't let up despite his brother refusing to end the call. Her other hand comes to rest over his forearm, sensing the movement of his muscles as he fingers her, and she doesn't know if she means to stop him or coax him. Her short nails jab into his skin as Cloud suddenly gets rougher, hitting deeper inside her, and Tifa feels herself clenching up. This time when Cloud speaks, all she hears is distorted noise as she comes over his hand, muffling her moans into his shirt. A whine gets away from her when he gently strokes her before pulling his hand away. She keeps her face hidden into his chest even as the hand that had been holding his phone curves around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair.

"I hate you," she mumbles against his T-shirt. It mutes her words, but he hears her anyway.

"You sure?"

The rough edge to his voice makes her pull back and glance up. Cloud looks at her with need and want, and there's a tautness to him that speaks of promises. She hums a noncommittal answer as she pushes herself up high enough to kiss him. Cloud's lips are both harsh and gentle against hers, sharp nips and lazy strokes. There's no more teasing, no more restraint as she tugs his flannel off his shoulder and then his T-shirt over his head; as he pushes her leggings and underwear down, then throws her tank top and bra away. Cloud drops her on the couch, staying in the cradle of her legs while fishes for protection in his pants' pocket. She sits up to place open-mouthed kisses over his chest while he sheaths himself, then laughs when he kisses her again and again as he drives her back down on the couch.

"You really planned on studying hard." She gasps when he pushes into her without warning. "Fuck," she hisses.

Cloud pulls away a little, concern etched over his features. "Sorry, I thought—"

"It's fine." Tifa wraps her legs tighter around his hips to prove her point, keeping him anchored to her. "It was a good 'fuck'." She feels his muscles relax at her words.

"It _is_ a good fuck," Cloud says with a smirk.

"You're such—ah." She moans when he sinks deeper into her; her arms come up around him as he moves his hips in harsh, drawn-out thrusts, the friction from his jeans against her skin adding to the sensations. "An idiot," she pants.

Her hips come up to meet his, prompting a satisfied noise from him. A hand grasps her thigh, hitching it higher, and his other arm rests near her head so he can lean forward and kiss her. There's nothing sweet about it, all wildness and yearning, and it makes Tifa sigh when he breaks away.

"Fuck," he whispers into her skin as he makes his way down to her chest. "You feel fucking good."

His words elicit a soft whine out of her, and her hold on his neck draws tight, pulling him closer. "Cloud—"

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he says again and again. His pace becomes fast and rough; Tifa gasps and throws her head back as she comes, clenching around him, her nails digging into his shoulders. Cloud hides his face into her neck, the hand on her thigh gripping her hard; he tenses as he comes, his lips brushing her skin as he rasps out hushed words.

Their loud breathing fills the air, neither of them ready to move apart for a moment. Then, Cloud lifts his head from her neck to glance at her.

"You okay?" His voice comes out hoarse.

Tifa nods with a lazy smile. "Uh-uh."

Cloud chuckles, gives her a quick, hard kiss, and gets up, keeping her legs around him. She yelps when he stands, having no choice but to cling to him; the position has her sink on him, and she lets out a low moan. Cloud's grip on her tightens. He walks them to a door and pushes it open. Her bedroom is dark, the lights from the streets faintly illuminating it. Cloud places her on the bed, and she lets her body fall back; he pads out of the room for a moment, then comes back. He strips off his jeans, keeping the briefs on, before joining her on the bed. Tifa hasn't moved, still laying above the covers.

"You're gonna get cold," Cloud says with amusement.

"I'm not sure I can move." She bites her lip at the admission.

Though she doesn't miss the trace of smugness in his smile, Cloud doesn't say anything. Instead, he maneuvers them until they are under the covers.

"Wait," he says before she can lie down again. He gently grabs her the mess her braid has become and unravels it, running his fingers through the strands in an effort to detangle it. "There."

The gesture touches Tifa, and she thanks him, ignoring her heart clenching in her chest. "Don't take this the wrong way," she says as they get under the covers, "but I have to ask you something."

Cloud nods, his features shuttering as if he's afraid of what's coming next.

"Does this mean anything beyond now?"

"Does it have to?" Cloud asks softly as if afraid he's saying the wrong thing.

"No." It's the truth just as she told Aerith earlier. "Just making sure we're on the same page."

"Alright. You don't mind if I sleep here?"

Tifa smiles. "You wouldn't be in my bed if I minded."

"Smart-ass," he murmurs as he twists to lie on his side. His arm falls over her waist, heavy and warm, but there is still a short distance between them which neither of them bridges before closing their eyes.


	5. Sonata no.8 in C minor, Op.13 “Pathétique”: III. Rondo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, lying to myself as usual: this chapter will only be 5000 words.
> 
> Welp. It's not.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> —
> 
> Sonata Op.13 “Pathétique”: III. Rondo - Beethoven

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **5:** Sonata no.8 in C minor, Op.13 “Pathétique”: III. Rondo

—

The box full of partitions seems to take up all the space on the coffee table.

Tifa hadn’t planned on taking it out of the closet. As she’d dressed this morning, the box had caught her eye, and the impulse to grab it had won. Now, as she sits on her couch and stares at it, she can’t find the courage to open it.

So she leaves it there for the day. She has two exams coming up this week and can’t waste any more time. But she discovers it’s not easy for her to dismiss the box; she moved it near the piano so she can use the table to study, but she still glances at it. As the sun sets and Tifa realizes she hasn’t retained a word of what she read, she decides enough is enough. She refuses to have wasted her whole Sunday on hesitancy and fear. The box is going back into the closet, and then she’ll be able to concentrate, knowing it’s hidden as it should. She stands and picks it up; it’s heavy considering the number of partitions inside, and the weight ends up being a reminder she could do without.

Tifa doesn’t see the shoes lying around in her room, and when she heads for the closet, she trips over them. Though she manages to keep her balance, the box isn’t as lucky, and it goes flying on the ground, the partitions scattering all over the floor. A sentiment akin to panic flares up for a moment as Tifa sees the mess she’s made—they’re not damaged, are they? Even if she doesn’t want to see them, they are one of the last links she has with her mother; to think of those partitions, some with handwritten notes inside—handwriting she won’t see anywhere else ever again—with torn pages or bent corners… Tifa kneels to pick them up, running a gentle hand over the covers and making sure everything is in a good state.

The only partition that suffered a little from the fall is her Hanon book of exercises, and nausea rises in her throat. This version of The Virtuoso Pianist belonged to her mother; it was already old when she inherited it as a kid, and the pages have only yellowed and become brittle with age. Luckily, only a few have loosened when she dropped the box. As Tifa puts back everything where it belongs, the Hanon book stays on the side. She goes to add it with the others, but her hand stills over it. After a few seconds, Tifa takes a deep breath, puts the lid back on the box, shoves it in the closet, and brings the Hanon book with her in the living room. The moment she places the partition on the piano, anxiety grips her fingers; it makes pulling the bench and opening the book harder than it should be.

Despite not having played for four years, her body hasn’t forgotten how to sit. It is both familiar and unfamiliar to Tifa—she played so much growing up that being at the piano is second nature, but the last four years have made the instrument alien to her. Her hands raise of their own accord, positioning themselves over the keys, and yet all they can do is hover. Before her, the first Hanon exercise stares back at her, begging to be started; Tifa’s eyes don’t stray from it as her nervousness expands until it is all she has become—if she doesn’t do something to release this energy, she’ll burst apart. Without thinking too hard about it, Tifa drops her hands on the piano. She used too much force, pushing them down instead of letting them fall without tension, and the aggressive sound of too many keys hit at once is jarring in the apartment. Her instinct is to pull her hands back, but she quells it; instead, she compels them to place themselves properly—loose and a little rounded, free of tension. It’s a start, she thinks, and she can’t push herself too hard the first time. Tifa decides on twenty minutes—if she can play the exercises for twenty minutes, it’ll be enough for now. A glance at the decorative clock on her wall tells her it’s 18:14.

The moment she begins her C scale, slow and articulated, a strange mixture of fear and happiness takes hold of her. Tifa inhales and exhales deeply to keep it at bay, not wanting to feel overwhelmed. She goes through the scale again—and again, faster this time. On and on until the stiffness in her fingers has ebbed, and then she moves on to arpeggios, chords, chromatics. It’s all very natural and mechanical to her, exercises she’s done so many times for years—it doesn’t feel like playing, not exactly, and she thinks this is what makes it feasible. She moves to the first Hanon exercise in C. As the minutes pass, Tifa can sense the anxiety diminish—it doesn’t leave completely, though, because in the back of her mind, she’s aware exercises are a warm-up. The thought of crossing that invisible lining into _playing_ paralyzes her suddenly, and Tifa snatches her hand away from the keys mid-exercise. Her breathing gets heavier and her hands curl into fists in her lap. She works on regulating her breathing, but the sight and proximity of the piano have the opposite effect, so she stands and walks away, leaving the bench out. Pacing helps a little, she finds out, if only because the constant movement distracts her. As her breaths become even, she hears the knock on her door.

With a mumbled curse, Tifa heads for the door, putting on her discarded hoodie on the way. She hadn’t thought of locking the practice pedal, and the noise must have annoyed one of her neighbors. She opens her door without looking through the peephole, an apology ready on her lips. It dies out as she sees Cloud on the other side, hands shoved into his jeans’ pockets. His posture makes her think he’s a little uncomfortable, and it builds her own discomfort in turn. When she’d woken up on yesterday morning, Cloud was dressing in a hurry; he’d told her he had to go to work and left with little else. Tifa had gotten up to lock the door and then gone back to sleep. Even if things seemed clear between them at the time, now that he stands across her, she is unsure what to think.

“What’s up?” she says before he can speak.

Cloud looks to the side for a second, then says, “I heard you playing piano.”

Her grip on the doorknob tightens. “Sorry for the noise, I didn’t think it’d be this loud.”

“Oh, no, that’s not…” He trails off, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay…” Tifa holds in her confusion as best as she can, but she hears some of it seep through.

“I just—” Cloud sighs as if deciding on something. “Are you alright?”

The words slam into her, stealing away her breath, and Tifa can’t bring herself to say anything. It’s probably unfair of her not to have anticipated this from Cloud—after all, he’s been considerate and attentive with her when it comes to piano. And considering what he knows, that he’d ask if she was okay almost seems like a given. Still, Tifa hadn’t expected it. Maybe because after Friday night, she had thought a certain distance, a kind of invisible wall would form between them. But him showing up at her door to make sure she’s fine—it hits Tifa harder than she’d like, and part of her wishes he hadn’t done it.

“It’s fine,” is all she says. She doesn’t want to lie and say _she_ is fine when it’s not really the case.

Cloud catches on the distinction—she sees it in the subtle shift of his expression, the slight frown that disappears as quickly as it came. Thankfully, he doesn’t push.

“Alright.” He shuffles his feet. “Just wanted to make sure.”

Tifa hesitates when he stays there; she doesn’t want to be rude after him coming to check on her, but the truth is that she’d rather be alone right now. Cloud seems to pick up on it, though, because after a few seconds, he clears his throat and steps back from the door.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” There’s a definite awkwardness to the way he says it that tugs at Tifa’s heartstrings.

“Thank you,” she says as he is about to go inside his apartment. Cloud turns her way, and she hates that she can’t decipher his expression anymore. “I just need to be alone,” she adds in the hope it will help him understand her attitude.

Cloud nods and gives her a slight smile and then goes inside; the door shuts softly behind him. Tifa stares at his door for a moment before turning back inside. As she pads back into the living room, she avoids looking at the piano and continues studying for her exams.

She doesn’t touch the instrument for the rest of the week. She has other things to focus on and, and they keep her busy enough. Once she finishes her last exam on Friday, she allows herself to relax; as far as she can tell, everything went well. That is until she remembers about Cloud’s exam today. So far, everything went back to how it was before they slept together. And yet, Tifa can’t help but think about his _I better do well on my exam_ comment from Friday. She’s not sure what bugs her about it—perhaps it’s Cloud’s silence on the matter, even if she knows it shouldn’t as they both said it meant nothing beyond that night. But without meaning to, she took his comment to heart, and now whenever the thought crosses her mind, she feels both unease and eagerness.

When she sees she has a new message after exiting her last exam, excitement rises only to crash a second later, and she becomes annoyed with herself for having wanted it to be Cloud. Instead, it’s Aerith, asking for Tifa to meet her outside at their usual spot. They haven’t seen each other since last week, too occupied with school, and Tifa’s spirits lift at the idea of seeing her friend. As she nears their favorite table out front, Tifa hears Yuffie before she notices Aerith—the latter laughs at Yuffie’s loud antics.

“What’s so funny?” Tifa asks as she drops her bag and sits.

“I got a boyfriend,” Aerith says, cutting off whatever Yuffie was about to say.

“So your second date with Zack went well?”

“Yeah, Zack.” Yuffie rolls her eyes, making Aerith laugh again. “Reno’s current sworn enemy.”

“And…it’s a problem?” Tifa frowns, making Yuffie huff.

“For _Reno_. He’s being a whiny little shit about my friend dating Zack. _I_ don’t care about their dick-measuring contest.”

Aerith’s laughter escalates. “That’s really what it is.”

“I’m just gonna hand them the ruler if this goes on,” Yuffie says with clear annoyance at the situation. “I’m telling you, Short Stuff, don’t get involved.”

“Alright,” Aerith replies with a wide smile, ignoring the nickname for once. “Let’s promise to stay neutral.”

Both girls turn to Tifa as if expecting her to say the same. She brings the sleeves of her jacket over her knuckles, one of her telltale signs of nervousness.

“Uh…” Tifa clears her throat. “A little late for that.”

 _“Seriously_?” Yuffie says with obvious confusion. “Where did that come from?”

At Tifa’s silence, Aerith laughs again. “Is it because of Cloud?”

“Cloud? Who the fuck is _Cloud_?”

Tifa glares at Aerith; though her involvement with the pranks started because of Cloud, she decided on helping Zack because it seemed _fun_. “Zack’s friend,” she says to Yuffie. “My neighbor.”

Yuffie says nothing for a moment, then sighs and rubs her forehead. “This is getting stupid.” As she says this, her phone chirps with a message. She reads it and groans. “They’re so _dumb_. Anyway,” she adds before someone can jump in, “did you get the piano tuned?”

The question makes Tifa freeze. She got the piano tuned not long after buying it; she had figured it might help her get started. But once it had been tuned, she hadn’t touched it. Not before the previous Sunday. Yuffie doesn’t seem to catch on Tifa’s sudden stiffness; her question isn’t malicious or prying—she doesn’t know enough about Tifa’s history with piano to think this way. But it still makes Tifa wary, as most things regarding piano do these days.

“Yes,” she says, keeping her tone even.

A short silence follows her curt answer; Tifa is saved by her phone signaling a new message. She immediately grabs it without seeing who it is, needing the escape from potential questions about piano. Aerith doesn’t waste time engaging Yuffie in conversation about her exams; Tifa is grateful for her friend’s intervention, and she lets out a long sigh before opening the message.

 **Mastermind:** _who is ready to party now that hell is over_

Tifa can’t help her brief smile—she wouldn’t expect anything different from Zack.

 **Neighbor:** _i might be_

 **Mastermind:** _i knew i could count on you. tonight, i’ll send you the details in a few. and tell my GIRLFRIEND she’s coming too_

 **Mastermind:** _please_

Tifa chuckles at his delayed ‘please’. “Apparently we’re going out tonight,” she tells Aerith once there’s a lull in her conversation with Yuffie. She turns the phone around so Aerith can read the message.

“Oh, we are, aren’t we? You wanna come, Yuffie?”

“And bring Reno with me?”

“Why not?” Aerith smirks. “Don’t forget your ruler.”

Yuffie snaps her fingers. “It’s a deal.”

Tifa lets out a snort, knowing this won’t end well. She shoots Zack a quick reply, confirming they’ll be there and asking if she can bring friends.

 **Mastermind:** _the more, the better_

Her friends carry on their previous conversation, and Tifa jumps in once in a while, but she keeps her attention on her phone. Once it becomes clear she’s waiting for a text that might never come and that staying here is making her angsty, she stands, startling her friends.

“You okay?”

Tifa smiles at Yuffie, doing what she can to mask her lie. “Yeah, I just forgot I had to ask a teacher something. I’ll let you know where to meet up as soon as Zack tells me.”

“Sure. Later, then.”

Aerith only waves her goodbye, but Tifa can’t hide from the knowing glint her friend’s eyes—she wasn’t fooled. Not that Tifa had expected her to be. Even Yuffie hadn’t seemed convinced. As she goes back into the school, Tifa lets her feet take her to the Music pavilion. She knows where she’s headed and yet doesn’t stop until she’s reached the piano practice rooms. Most of them are empty because of the end of the exam period, and she doesn’t try to open them, knowing they would be locked—it’s not her reason for coming here, anyway. Really, she’s not even sure _what_ her reason is. Probably that she needed a distraction from her anxious thoughts and from staring down her phone. Tifa stops before a room where someone plays; the melody is recognizable to her—the third movement of Beethoven’s Sonata “Pathétique”. She played it years ago. Without overthinking, Tifa slides down against the wall across from the room and sits cross-legged, allowing herself to absorb the music.

The piece advances, and she feels her fingers twitch as if they still remember how to glide and jump across the keys, nimble and swift—like they still know how to make the notes clear and vivid, the chords spirited and articulated. And maybe they do a little, and that is the problem—her body is haunted by the past and there is no true way to exorcise these ghosts. Tifa leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. Despite her reluctance to play or even to listen to classical for the last four years, now that she hears it often from Cloud and dared to sit down at the piano, she finds the music soothing again. Not in the same all-encompassing manner as when she was young, where she could get lost and lost for hours, the music so intensely tempting and welcoming that it felt like she would never find her way back home. No, it will never be like that again, and Tifa has accepted that. But at least, if it can bring her some semblance of calm and take her mind off trivialities, she won’t reject it anymore.

The person plays through the piece twice; there’s an ease to their playing that betrays years of practice. Tifa opens her eyes, staying where she is even as the music stops and she hears shuffling coming from the room. The lights turn off and the door opens, revealing a tall guy a few years older than her. He doesn’t notice her at first, too busy locking the door behind him; when he turns around and spots her, he freezes. His long black hair is tied up but some tendrils have escaped, and he pushes them back impatiently as he stares at her.

“How long have you been playing?” Tifa asks after an awkward silence. Sure, it’s not the best introduction, but the question nags her.

The guy frowns a little as if puzzled, and Tifa realizes it might seem like a stupid question to ask a Music student. Still, he replies, “Fifteen years.”

Her heart stings—if she hadn’t stopped, she would have been playing for fifteen years, too. “Sorry for being weird,” she says as she gets to her feet.

“Do you play?” The guy’s frown has vanished, and instead understanding has taken over.

Tifa stares past his shoulder as she says, “I used to.” She’s grateful when he doesn’t ask her to elaborate.

He tilts his head to the side. “Looking to start again?”

“No,” she rushes out. It’s obvious she’s not telling the truth, but he doesn’t call her out on it. “I was just passing through and heard you. I used to play that, so I guess I got nostalgic. Anyway, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he says. She can hear the interest in his voice, and it roots her on the spot. “I’m Vincent, by the way.”

She crosses her arms, burying her hands under the sleeves of her jacket. “Tifa.”

“You’re welcome to come listen to me play whenever you want. I’m here every Friday at the same time.” The smile he gives her is genuine. “If you don’t mind hearing me fucking up a lot.”

She laughs. “I promise I’ve heard worse. Are you practicing for something in particular?”

Vincent points in direction of the main exit to the pavilion. “Were you heading outside?” When she nods, he motions at her to follow him. “I’m playing for an event in March, but that piece isn’t for that. I’ve just always loved playing it.”

“What are you going to play then?”

“Some Chopin and Brahms for now. Probably more Beethoven. I’ll pull whatever else from my current repertoire.”

As they walk outside, they continue chatting. Tifa feels herself relaxing as the conversation goes on; talking about piano with someone who gets it lets her focus on the good aspects instead of all the bad memories it brought in the end. Once they’ve reached the parking lot and are about to go their separate ways, disappointment burns in her chest—she hasn’t had this kind of discussion in such a long time.

“If you really don’t mind, I might come listen when I can,” she says she stops before her car.

“Yeah, whenever you want.” Vincent takes out his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you if I can’t make it so you don’t show up for nothing.” He programs the number she gives him and sends her a quick text so she has his in return. “Also, don’t feel pressured, but as a Masters student, I give classes for the school. If you’re ever interested in playing again.”

“Oh.” Her hand tightens are her phone, and she hides it in her pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Alright. Nice meeting you, Tifa,” Vincent says with a smile.

She waves at him as he retreats, then climbs into her car. It’s when she gets home and sees her piano that the realization hits—for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like she was being chased by the music. Instead, she’s the one who sought it out.

—

The bar Zack chose is loud and crowded, not that Tifa had thought it would be anything else. She checks the text Zack sent her indicating where they are inside, and after pushing through the crowd, finds them in a booth towards the back.

“Here you are!” Zack raises his glass in greeting.

Tifa removes her jacket. “Did you have to choose somewhere so far?” She smiles to let him know she’s teasing.

Zack grins. “Damn, neighbor. Looking good.”

“Tifa always looks good,” Aerith adds before taking a sip of her drink.

Thankful for the dimness hiding her blush, Tifa slides into the booth next to Cloud. “Is Yuffie still coming?” she asks Aerith to stir the topic away from herself.

“She should be here soon.”

The booth is large, and Cloud sits at the back against the wall. Still, she swears he could be closer from the way his presence seems to crowd her. Tifa twists her head to look at him; her greeting dies on her lips when she catches him staring at her legs before his eyes snap up to hers.

“Hey,” he says.

“ _Hey_? Is that all you’re gonna say?” Zack shakes his head and lets out a scolding noise that almost gets lost in the bar's cacophony. “It’s your turn to tell her she looks amazing.”

Tifa doesn’t miss the sparkle of mischief in Zack’s gaze, and she kicks his shin under the table. To his credit, he holds in his wince.

“That _was_ a lame greeting,” Aerith jumps in. “I’m sure he can do better.”

Cloud glares at the couple but doesn’t play their game; instead, he takes a big gulp of his beer. There’s an edge to Cloud tonight—Tifa has come to know him enough to tell. She wonders if it is his brother again, or if maybe he just doesn’t like bars and clubs—most likely a mixture of both. Zack laughs at Cloud’s silence before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want, Tifa? I’m going to the bar.”

A glance at a broody Cloud and a smirking Aerith as her say, “I’ll come with you.”

She stays close behind him so they don’t get separated in the crowd; once at the bar, Zack gives their orders and then turns to her with his trademark wicked grin.

“You made him speechless.”

The blush that had vanished reappears. “I think your pestering just annoyed him.”

Zack lets out a snort. “I don’t know if you wanted to impress anyone, but if you did, I’m telling you it worked.”

“Maybe I just wanted to look cute,” Tifa says, keeping her eyes on the bartender.

“You look more than cute.” Zack elbows her. “Mission accomplished either way.”

Tifa doesn’t respond to that. She didn’t lie to Zack—she did dress up because she wanted to. It spawned from leftover irritation at herself for having expected Cloud to text her, and she had wanted to make herself feel better. Cute clothes always did the trick in that case. But in a way, it _did_ have to do with Cloud, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. She’d selected her clothes with all this in mind, going for a black pleated skirt and a close-fitting velvet top she knew accentuated her figure. As she’d gone to slip on her tights, she had spied the black thigh highs peeking from her drawer; she’d grabbed them without thinking twice about it. The black heeled booties had completed the outfit, and Tifa had left the apartment before she could change her mind.

The bartender hands them their drinks, preventing Zack from pursuing this specific conversation. As they make their way back to the booth, Tifa spots Yuffie and Reno. She holds in a laugh when Reno and Zack spot each other at the same. Reno grimaces and turns to say something to Yuffie.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Zack groans. Being next to him, Tifa is the only one who hears. “I thought you said you were bringing friends.”

Tifa takes a sip of her drink, her wide eyes conveying her innocence. “I invited Yuffie. She brought her…friend.”

The look he sends her is full of disbelief. “Her _friend_? You really want me to believe that?”

She shrugs one shoulder, hiding her smirk behind her glass. They get to the booth, and Yuffie hugs Tifa.

“Forgot the ruler,” she whispers in Tifa’s ear.

Tifa almost chokes on her drink, making Yuffie laugh. Zack climbs into the booth next to Aerith, pointedly ignoring Reno, who glares at Yuffie.

“You said we were meeting Tifa and Aerith,” he says, his irritation obvious.

“We are,” Yuffie replies with a saccharine smile. “They’re right here.”

“Unbelievable.” Reno rolls his eyes but still takes off his jacket.

Tifa goes back to her seat next to Cloud, sliding closer this time to allow Reno to sit. There is no way she can be oblivious to Cloud’s presence now; her thigh almost presses against his and their arms brush whenever he goes to grab his drink.

“You two better behave,” Yuffie says as a greeting to Zack. “ _Both_ of you.” This time, the comment is addressed to Reno; he lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Sure, let’s call a truce.” Reno raises an eyebrow in a silent dare to Zack.

“One night won’t change anything.” Zack smirks. He goes to add something but shuts up when Aerith elbows him in the ribs; he lets out a wheeze. “Alright, truce.”

And to Tifa’s surprise, said truce holds throughout the night—everyone seems to have fun as they talk and drink. Eventually, Yuffie drags Reno away to dance, and Aerith and Zack follow. Once alone with Cloud, Tifa isn’t sure what to say. While Cloud talked and laughed with the others, now he stays in his corner at the end of the booth. A trickle of anxiety runs through Tifa, making her warm; she ties up her hair in a ponytail so the heavy locks don’t fall over her neck. Taking a sip of her drink for courage, she twists around to face Cloud. His eyes are already on her, and she falters for a second before regaining her footing.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?” The casual tone of his answer makes her think he’s telling the truth, but she can’t ignore the stiffness of his shoulders.

“Well, there are a lot of strangers in here,” she says. “Don’t strangers make you uncomfortable?”

The smile Cloud gives her is a little pleased, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I haven’t moved from my seat?” He rests his head against the wall. “I’m enjoying myself fine, but you won’t see me in there.” He points at the dancing crowd.

“Makes sense.” She’s not surprised by this, but maybe she’s a little disappointed. Her expression must show it because Cloud frowns. Though she hadn’t wanted to let him know, now that he does, she adds, “You don’t like dancing?”

“Depends.” Cloud takes a gulp of his second beer. “Are you asking me to dance with you?”

Tifa bites her lips, then releases it. “No.” At his inquiring glance, she says, “I wouldn’t ask knowing it makes you uncomfortable.” It occurs to her then that she could have scooted away now that Reno has left, but she stayed next to him—and still she doesn’t move.

Cloud lets out a chuckle. “I appreciate that.”

They fall quiet for a moment, and right as she is about to ask about his exam, Zack appears at the end of the booth. His wide smile and sparkling eyes catch Tifa’s attention; before she can ask what he wants, Zack grabs her hand and pulls her out of her seat. She almost stumbles but stays upright.

“Zack!”

“Come dance, neighbor!”

Tifa rolls her eyes but can’t suppress her smile. “You could have just _asked_.” She has to yell now that they are near the speakers.

He turns to face her, and she thinks his grin got bigger if that’s even possible. “Not taking the chance of you saying no. C’mon!”

Aerith comes up on her left, saying something Tifa can’t hear over the music, but still she laughs, all of her previous anxiety melting away as she dances with her friend. The songs go on and on, the music never stopping for a second, and Tifa can’t tell how long she, Aerith, and Zack dance before she gets too warm. She signals at them that she’s heading back and skirts the crowd to find their booth, finding they weren’t far at all even it had seemed like she was a world away.

“Not too bored?” she asks Cloud as she slips in next to him. Her breathing comes out a little heavy, and she attempts to even it out before facing Cloud.

The delight she feels at the longing in his eyes hits her hard, and it makes her breath hitch. Thankfully, the sound is drowned in the noise of the bar. She’s close to him again, closer than necessary, but she sees no need to move—not when he leans forward, just enough that she has to tilt her head back a little.

“No, I was watching you.”

She blinks in surprise, not having realized he could see them from the booth, and then smiles. “Glad to have entertained you.”

He mumbles something she can’t hear and slants back. Dismay at the sudden distance flares up, but she understands why seconds later when the others slide back into their seats, bearing another round of drinks. The conversation picks up immediately, and for a while, everything is fine. When Tifa feels the brush of a hand on her left thigh, she dismisses it as an accident—until it happens again. She peeks at Cloud from the corner of her eyes, but he looks as calm as ever, chatting with Aerith. Tifa takes a big swallow of her drink as he traces the edge of her thigh high, then drops his hand over her thigh above the fabric. A quick look at Reno to her right tells her he’s too absorbed in his drunk bickering with Zack and Yuffie to notice—or at least she hopes so. For a second, she thinks she should push Cloud’s hand away—especially as it slides up her leg, stopping high on her thigh and under her skirt; Cloud’s slight smirk betrays his satisfaction when she doesn’t. If the others note her sudden quietness, they don’t comment on it. Tifa doubts they do, anyway, too far on their way to being drunk and too absorbed by their discussions. Cloud’s hand stays put, not drifting further, a warm reminder of what happened last week and of what might happen tonight.

After a while, she senses him shift as he dips his head to speak in her ear. “I did well on my exam.” His grip on her thigh draws taunt for a moment before it slackens.

Tifa says nothing for a minute; she finishes her drink in one swig. Though she didn’t drink a lot, it was enough to make her bolder. That’s how she justifies her hand coming down to cover Cloud’s as he goes to pull it away, anchoring it to her leg.

“How do you know?”

He laughs, the sound almost too quiet to catch. “Honestly, your tutoring helped.”

“Uh-uh.”

Cloud leans back, the illusion of privacy dissipating. “Did you come here by cab?”

His question seizes Zack’s attention across the table. “Yeah, I did.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Cloud says, wry. “Tifa and I are gonna head back.”

As he says it, he removes his hand, and Tifa can’t help but be a little disappointed. Cloud gesture at Reno to move so they can get out of the booth. Reno complies, gripping the table as he stands.

“You guys dating?” he asks with a puzzled frown.

Tifa can barely register his garbled words, and when she does, she shakes her head. “We’re neighbors,” she says while putting on her jacket.

“Uh. Okay.” Reno turns to Yuffie. “You wanna leave?”

“Nooooo.”

Cloud puts a hand on Tifa’s back, nudging her towards the exit once they’ve said goodbye to everyone. The mid-November air is refreshing, a welcome change from the stuffiness of the bar.

“So you wanna take a cab back?” Cloud asks as he checks his phone.

Tifa waits for him to frown as he often does when looking at his messages, but it doesn’t come. “Everything okay with your brother?”

He raises his head, surprise etches in his features. “Yeah, I think so. Called him back, and it went well.”

At the mention of him calling his brother back, Tifa looks away; the memory of Seph’s initial call slams into her, and she knows her cheeks have reddened.

“We can take the metro,” she says to draw the attention away from his brother and phone calls. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

The nearest station is a five minutes walk away; Tifa leads them there, knowing relying on Cloud will only get them lost downtown. The station is somewhat busy, full of people going home after a night out. Tifa heads for the tail end of the platform, knowing there’ll be fewer people there; though Cloud tries to hide it, she notes the stiffness of his body as he weaves through the people waiting. They get at the end right as the train arrives. Once inside the wagon, a quick check shows there are no free seats, so Tifa rests against the opposite door; Cloud comes to stand in front of her, grabbing unto the nearest pole to keep his balance as the train departs.

He’s close again, and Tifa feels her pulse beat faster at the proximity. She’s uncertain what she had expected to happen between them before getting to the bar, but she finds it doesn’t matter anymore—all that does is the yearning in his eyes and the smirk lifting the corner of his lips, like he knows what she’s thinking. He reaches out and brings her ponytail over her shoulder. Her hair goes up to her waist, and most of the time, she finds it more cumbersome than anything else. But not right now as Cloud runs his fingers through the strands; on impulse, Tifa removes the elastic, letting the locks fall.

“I didn’t say it earlier,” Cloud says, so quiet that only she can hear him, “but you do look amazing.”

“Better late than never.” With her heeled booties, they stand around the same height, and she can’t escape his gaze.

“You know…” He trails off as if unsure what to say next.

“I know…?”

His hand drifts to the edge of her skirt, skimming the outside of her leg before brushing the fabric of her thigh highs. It’s a subtle touch that is gone as fast as it came, and she almost thinks she imagined it. “Those have been tormenting me all night,” he murmurs.

Tifa can’t help it—she lets out a chuckle at his admission, making him look up in question. “So you have a thigh high fixation, is that it?”

His tongue peeks out between his teeth as he stares at her, and she reins in the urge to kiss him. When he speaks next, roughness colors his voice. “On you I do.” He notices the way she inhales sharply, the way her mouth drops open just a little. “Fuck,” he mumbles, making her smile, “how far are we?”

She glances at the map behind his shoulder. “Six more stops. Our building is close to the station.”

A charged silence settles between them until they get off the metro and all the way to the apartment building. He unlocks the main door, and Tifa follows him inside and up the stairs. The moment she steps on their floor’s landing, Cloud grabs her hand and pulls her down the corridor to his door; Tifa is inside his apartment before she knows it. She removes her boots and jacket as he locks the door behind them, and then walks into the living room, taking in the surroundings—the set up is a mirror replica of hers, but everything feels different. The bookshelves are what she notices first—they are full of books and some CDs, messy and with no apparent organization. Then, the large desk against the wall in front of her, part of it covered in papers and textbooks. It’s all she sees before Cloud backs her up against said desk and kisses her.

It’s not the same as last time, she thinks as his hands go for the zipper of skirt—this is more urgent, more intense, and, really, she’s glad for it. Right now, after the teasing at the bar and the flirting in the metro, Tifa doesn’t want to waste time. Her skirt falls to the floor, and she tugs her top over her head, silently cursing it for being so tight. Cloud has already stripped to his briefs by the time she throws the top away. She goes to pull down one thigh high, but he catches her hand.

“These stay on,” he whispers before biting her bottom lip.

Tifa can’t find the will to disagree. His hand slips past her underwear as she unhooks her bra, and she sighs when his fingers brush against her. The second she discards her bra, Cloud leans forward to press kisses over her breasts. She moans when he pushes two fingers into her, only to pull away so he can remove her underwear; his fingers seek her again, rough and earnest.

Tifa returns the favor, pushing his briefs down his hips. He groans when she wraps her hand around him. “Fuck, you’re really wet,” he mumbles into her skin.

It’s tempting to ignore the comment, but she finds she wants him to know. “I’ve been wet since you touched me at the bar.”

Cloud raises his head to look at her. “Seriously?”

“Uh-uh. I was—” She yelps as Cloud turns her around so she’s bent over the desk. A quick laugh escapes her at his impatience, and it trails off into another moan as he leans against her back and she has no choice but to feel all of him.

His hand slips over her stomach and down, down, down. Cloud bites her shoulder, a soft reprimand. “We would have left sooner if you’d told me.”

“I didn’t— _fuck_ ,” she hisses when he presses down on her clit, moving his fingers in slow circles.

“Yeah? You didn’t what?” He pushes her hair over one of her shoulders to expose her back so he can trail kisses over the skin there.

“I didn’t want to—ah—be too obvious—” The last word leaves her on a whine as he picks up the rhythm, rubbing her in quick, short circles. “To the others,” she ends up saying. Her breathing gets heavier, and she closes her eyes. “Cloud, stop teasing.”

He hums near her ear, making her shiver. “You sure? I’ll have to move away.” As if to emphasize his point, he applies more pressure.

“ _Ah_ —why?”

She feels him laugh against her back. “I have to go get a condom. They’re in my room.”

“It’s fine.” Her pants seem too loud in the otherwise silent apartment. Tifa bites her lip, muting her groan as Cloud pulls his hand away. “I’m on birth control. I wanted to tell you earlier,” she says, reaching behind her to stop him from stepping back, “but you had me on the desk pretty fast.”

“Tifa, it’s not a big deal, I’ll just go—” He sucks in a breath when she arches her back and her ass presses against him.

“If you want, but I’m telling you it’s alright.” The arm around her waist tightens, and she moans when his fingers find her again. There’s nothing sweet about his touch; Tifa feels her muscles tense just as he breaks away a little. “Fuck, Cloud, pleas—” Her whisper rises into a cry when his fingers are on her again and he enters her at the same time—she comes without warning, the wave of her climax short but intense, leaving her panting and unsteady on her feet. Her hazy mind is grateful for the desk holding her up.

“Fuck, you just came.” Cloud’s voice is hoarse, strained. He gives her a moment to adjust, running his hands along her back, her sides, then over her ass and down her legs, stopping above the thigh highs. She catches his mumbled, “You look so hot like this,” before he thrusts into her.

Tifa doesn’t hold back her whine; her hips dig into the edge of the desk, the slight pain adding to the sensations. As if thinking the same, Cloud slows down and slips a hand underneath her right thigh.

“Lean on your elbows.” The demand doesn’t register immediately, but then the words break through, and Tifa listens. “I’m gonna lift your leg, okay?” She doesn’t have time to say anything before Cloud gently hoists her right leg on the desk, folding it so it can rest on the surface. He rests one hand behind her knee to keep her in place as he pushes into her again and again, harder this time. “Fuck, fuck.” The curses leave him in a low hiss. His other hand comes up to palm her breast, then slides around to her shoulder down to her lower back.

Tifa lets her head hang between her arms, not having the strength to hold it up as Cloud drives into her. This time when she comes, she senses it building until it’s too much at once and her entire body clenches; her stifled cry ebbs into soft moans when Cloud thrusts a few more times into her as he comes.

They stay still a moment, their pants echoing in the unlit space, until Cloud carefully places her leg down from the desk. He drags her upright against his chest, supporting her with an arm around her waist; Tifa rests her weight on him, her legs feeling a bit too weak for her taste.

“Come on,” he mumbles into her hair.

Cloud steps back despite her noise of protest and leads her towards the back of the apartment. His room is as messy as his living room; he turns on the bedside lamp as Tifa sits on the edge of the bed. She runs a hand through her hair, frowning at the tangled and sweaty strands; the heat of the bar paired with what they just did made her hair gross.

“Can I use your shower?” she asks Cloud while he searches through something in his wardrobe.

He turns around and hands her a large T-shirt. “Yeah, go ahead. You can put this on after.”

She thanks him with a smile and goes into the bathroom, stripping off her thigh highs. The water helps her mind clear as it falls down on her. Tifa washes her hair quickly, only caring about the getting most of the sweat out for tonight. Once she’s done and dried off, she stands in front of the fogged up mirror, a little hesitant to walk back into his bedroom. It’s not an anxious kind of hesitation, she thinks, but rather one born from the vagueness of their relationship. It’s difficult to tell where they stand for now, but she figures this can wait until tomorrow. Tifa throws on Cloud’s shirt and braids her wet hair, then goes back to his room.

Cloud lies on the unmade bed in a shirt and clean underwear. He puts down his phone when she pads close to the bed; he blinks as he watches her sit next to him.

“Thanks for letting me use your bathroom,” Tifa says when the silence stretches.

It seems to snap him out of it. “No problem.”

Maybe it's because of the shower, but Tifa doesn’t feel tired, and he doesn’t seem to be either. As if reading her mind, Cloud sits up and then grabs the laptop on his bedside table.

“You up to watch a movie?”

They choose the first one that sounds interesting and get comfortable on the bed, reclining against the headboard. Thirty minutes in, Cloud goes in the kitchen to get some water, and Tifa smiles at his obvious lack of attention. He clearly let her chose the movie, and even she can’t be bothered to focus on it much. Still, a certain curiosity about the plot keeps her watching; she shifts so the laptop rests at the top of the bed and she lies on her stomach. A minute later, she hears Cloud walk back into the room and put down the glasses on the desk. Tifa is about to twist her head to look at him when the bed dips behind her, telling her he climbed in. When he reaches over her to close the laptop, she huffs, a little annoyed.

“You could have just _said_ you didn’t feel like watching it anymore,” she says, her tone dry. His hand sliding along her leg and up towards her back, pushing his shirt as it goes, makes her laugh in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Seriously?”

Cloud turns her around so she faces him. He gives her a lazy smile before continuing to push the shirt until it’s bunched up above her breasts. “You look too good in my shirt.” He gives her no time to reply before leaning down to kiss her.

Tifa sighs in his mouth as his hands come up to enfold her breasts. His lips go down to join them; he nips and licks at her skin, coaxing breathy noises from her, and then moves on to her stomach, her hips, her thighs. He nudges her legs wider apart, and she lets them fall open; he groans his approval. The soft scrape of his teeth against her inner thighs makes her raise her hips a bit in anticipation. Cloud lets out a quiet laugh before licking her with the flat of his tongue. Tifa clutches the sheet next to her head as he explores her sweetly and slowly. But she wants more, she thinks as he carries on with a lazy rhythm that drives her crazy.

“Cloud,” she breathes out, “please.”

He lifts his head, and she feels the brush of his lips against her skin when he speaks—that’s how she can tell he’s smiling. “What is it?”

“It’s not enough.” The admission escapes her on a sigh.

“No? Then what would be? This?” he asks as one of his hands leave her hip.

She senses the brush of his fingers against her right before he unhurriedly thrusts a finger into her while lowering his head again to lick her. It’s better, but she knows he’s still teasing her. “Not enough,” she says softly. He says nothing this time; she moans when he adds a second finger and still—

Tifa reaches down to the hand holding on to her hip and clasps it, her nails digging into his skin. “I don’t want you to—ah, fuck.” She closes her eyes when he twists his hand in a steady rhythm as it enters her. “To be gentle,” she gasps out.

In answer, Cloud intertwines their fingers; she grips his hand too tightly as he listens to her request. He thrusts harder into her; when he grazes her clit with his teeth then sucks on it, Tifa’s grasp on his hand tenses to the point of pain, and she comes with a loud whimper, her hips lifting and her thighs clenching around his head. It takes her a moment to slacken her hold on his hand, and once she does, Cloud laughs, the sound muffled against her stomach where he rests his cheek.

“Shut up,” she mumbles without heat.

Cloud tugs the shirt down over her. Tifa lets him, suddenly feeling exhausted. She glances up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Come on,” he says, “go to sleep.”

She hums a half-hearted objection. “But you—”

“Hey, just sleep, okay?” Cloud moves so he can bring a lightweight sheet over her.

Tifa doesn’t have it in her to protest more, so she nods. “You too?” She’s not sure why it comes out as a question, but it doesn’t faze him.

“Yeah, in just a minute.”

Her eyes close as he tucks a strand of hair away from her face, and as she drifts off, she thinks she hears retreating footsteps before silence takes over.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cloud's thigh high fixation when it comes to Tifa is canon, sorry I don't make the rules.


	6. Étude no.3, Un sospiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank all of you for the Tifa's-thigh-highs-appreciation party that went down in the comments. You guys know what's up.  
> —  
> Étude no.3, Un sospiro - Liszt

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **6:** Étude no.3, _Un sospiro_

—

The room Tifa wakes up in is warm and bright like she forgot to close the blinds and the sun flooded the space. She blinks the confusion away, then rubs her eye as she takes in the unfamiliar room; the mess of clothes over a chair and of books piled on the floor jog her memory—this is Cloud's room. Tifa sits up on her knees, yawning, and looks to her right where Cloud lies on his back, still asleep. She watches the even rise and fall of his chest for a moment, noting he discarded his shirt after she fell asleep. He doesn't stir when she gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom.

She goes about her morning routine as best as she can, using the mouthwash since she doesn't have a toothbrush with her. As she unbraids her hair, Tifa goes into the living room, surprised to see their clothes aren't there anymore; only her boots and jacket remain where she left them. Her phone is still in the jacket's pocket, out of battery from not having been charged yesterday. With a sigh, Tifa puts it back into the pocket and goes in search of her clothes.

She finds them messily folded on the dresser in Cloud's bedroom. Her fingers trail the soft velvet of her top as she debates dressing and returning to her apartment. The idea of leaving before Cloud wakes up doesn't sit well with her, even if all she'd be doing is going next door. Tifa throws a glance at him when she hears him shift, but he stays asleep. Her eyes drift back to the dresser and settle on the pile of CDs near her clothes; all of them are old editions of classical piano recordings—she sees Beethoven, Debussy, and Fauré amongst others. On the side as if set apart is a CD for Chopin's Nocturnes. And maybe it's self-centered of her to think Cloud _did_ set it apart because he knew one of the Nocturnes sets her off—but damn it if the thought doesn't cross her mind. It's hard for it not to, really, when she remembers how he handled her breakdown—how he checked up on her that time she played the scales and exercises.

With one last look at the CDs and her clothes, Tifa climbs back on the bed, careful not to jostle him too much. In his sleep, Cloud's features are relaxed, free of that subtle tension he sometimes carries. For some reason, she remembers the moment not long before she fell asleep when he laughed into her skin—and then she recalls him exiting the room as she was falling asleep. As if in answer to her thoughts, Cloud's phone lights up on the nightstand—while she can't see the content of the messages from where she is, she can guess from who they are. She gets confirmation when a call comes through and Seph's photo fills the screen. The phone is on silent, and she considers waking up Cloud so he can answer for a second. But this made her remember he'd been looking at his phone after she'd taken a shower. She had thought nothing of it at the time, but now she wonders if his suggestion to watch a movie—despite being unable to focus on it—and then going down on her had been ways to take his mind off matters with his brother.

When he groans as if about to wake up and the phone lights up from a call again, Tifa finds she doesn't want him to see this first thing in the morning, not if it's what made him agitated last night. She leans down to drop light kisses on his chest—the thought of having him wake up to something good instead of the stress of messages and missed calls is oddly pleasing to her. Her hands drift over his skin in playful touches that get assertive as she moves down to his stomach. Cloud grunts when her lips follow her hands in open-mouthed kisses. Tifa raises her eyes to his face, finding him half-awake and staring at her. She kicks the cover away and lower on the bed so she can kneel in between his legs.

"Is this okay?" she asks softly.

Cloud nods, blinking slowly as if unsure if he's still sleeping. "Yeah," he says, so low she almost misses it.

Tifa keeps her eyes on him as one of her hands comes up to rub him through his briefs, teasing more than anything else at first; she applies more pressure, then tugs the underwear down so she can feel his skin against her fingers. Cloud closes his eyes when she wraps her hand around him, slowly stroking. She presses her mouth along the length in soft, wet kisses, coaxing a groan from him. Tifa does it again, allowing her tongue to peek out this time; his eyes snap open to find hers as she slips him over her tongue and past her lips. His hazy gaze almost makes her laugh; it's like he can't tell if he's dreaming or not, and all she wants is for him to realize that it is real. That's what she's thinking as she closes her lips around him and takes more of him in her mouth, her tongue sliding against the underside.

"Fuck." The curse is a drawn-out hiss. One hand reaches out, his fingers brushing along her jaw as she begins moving her head; the touch makes her look up, and the awareness she spies in his eyes elicits a wave of pleasure and satisfaction in her. "Tifa?" His voice is hoarse, a little disbelieving.

She hums in answer, drawing more noises from him. Her hair falls forward, and she goes to tuck it behind her ears, but Cloud already has his hands in the strands, gathering them away from her face.

"Fuck, look at you," he mumbles.

She's a little surprised at the delight she feels at his words; at how warm her body becomes at his every sigh and moan. Tifa lets him slip out of her mouth, one hand still stroking him while the other rests on his thigh. She lays kisses along his hips and his stomach; Cloud gives her hair a gentle tug so she glances up at him.

"If you're getting tired, you don't— _"_ His voice trails off into a loud moan when she cuts him off by taking him into her mouth again, going as deep as she can. " _Fuck_ , Tifa," he rasps as she keeps him there and swallows. His hips lift in a sharp, shallow thrust at the sensation, and she backs away, taking the time to breathe in. He groans, "Do that again," and Tifa can't deny the excitement she's feeling anymore.

She doesn't comply immediately, instead leaning forward to lick and suck along his length, absorbing his muttered curses. Her legs rub together as if to ease the discomfort of her own arousal, but it does nothing to help. It's too much to bear all of a sudden—his hands in her hair, his soft praise and breathy moans echoing in her ears, the salt of his skin against her tongue; Tifa steadies herself on an elbow as her other hand glides down her body to find herself wet and waiting. She pulls away from Cloud a moment, sighing as the slight relief she allows herself, before sliding him into her mouth again. Her sudden movements and pause don't escape Cloud, whose hands clench in her hair.

"Oh, fuck." His voice is almost pained. "Are you touching yourself?"

Tifa drags the flat of her tongue against his length. "Uh-uh," she breathes out, eyes closing for a moment.

"That's—fuck, you're hot." He notices the low whine she lets out at this. "You like me telling you that?" he asks in a mumble. A hand leaves her hair to brush against her jaw, and Tifa looks at him as he runs his thumb against her bottom lip, slipping the tip of it into her mouth. "You like hearing what you do to me?" Her fingers graze her clit as he says this, and she moans out something that might have been _yes_ or just a strangled noise of pleasure, but it's enough of a confirmation for Cloud. "Fuck, you _do_."

Tifa drags the hand between her legs away, dropping it on his thigh; she bites his thumb, a gentle request for him to pull back. Cloud laughs, quiet and strained, as he listens to her wordless demand and instead drops his hand to his leg, brushing his fingers against her wet ones. Whatever he was going to say transforms into a husky moan when she wraps her lips around him; his hand finds its way back into her hair, pushing back the locks that had escaped his grip. Tifa takes him deep and swallows again, loving the reactions she coaxes out of him—the low groans he emits, the way he throws his head back and closes his eyes, the involuntary tug on her hair as she doesn't ease up her rhythm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispers. "Tifa, _fuck_ —come here."

She releases him, and he pulls her up against his body by the grasp he has on her head. Tifa keeps a hand around him as he brings her head down to kiss her, harsh and gasping as he comes. His hips lift, and he moans into her mouth as she keeps stroking him. She finds herself pressed awkwardly against his chest, so Tifa lets go of her hold on him and shifts to steady herself by placing a knee on either side of his leg. Cloud moves at the same time, and his thigh rubs against her; Tifa feels how slick she is against his skin, and a whimper escapes her at the contact. Cloud lets his head fall back against the pillow as he pants and stares at her with a pleased gleam in his eyes; he smirks a little as he feels her against his thigh, and his hands slide down her body and under the shirt to find her skin.

"Come up here to straddle me," he murmurs.

Though she listens, Tifa gives him a half-hearted objection. "I can just—"

"A little higher," he cuts off as he pushes against her back so she scoots up on his stomach. "You can just what? Get yourself off?" His voice turns rough when he adds, "You were doing a pretty good job earlier."

Her hands clench where they lie over his chest, her nails digging into his skin. She figures she should be more embarrassed than she is right now, but it's her built-up excitement that triumphs.

Cloud reads her pause as hesitancy, and his hands glide down her hips to grip her thighs. "Don't get shy on me now." He gives her a warm, encouraging smile.

"I'm not," she breathes out, a little surprised by her own words and the truth they contain. For a second, she does hesitate, but it dissipates quickly enough as Cloud smooths his thumbs over her inner thighs. The moment her fingers brush against herself, she sighs; the sound has Cloud tighten his grasp on her legs. Her fingers stroke, hard and fast, but there's something about the intensity of Cloud's gaze on her that makes this both too much and not enough.

"You need more?" he asks, still in that hoarse voice as she pulls away and grabs his hand.

"Yes." The word comes out breathy, needy.

He shoves back the fabric of the shirt covering her hips. "Take it off. As much as you look great in my shirt, I'd rather look at you." Tifa pulls the shirt over her head, dropping it on the bed next to them. She bites her lip when he runs his hand over her with the lightest touch. "Lift up."

Tifa listens, raising up on her knees a little, and a loud whine leaves her when he easily slides two fingers into her.

"Fuck yeah," Cloud groans, "you really got off on this, didn't you? You're so wet."

His fingers curl inside her, finding a spot that sends a sharp wave of pleasure through her, making her gasp. As he thrusts into her, Tifa soon feels her legs weaken from having to hold herself up over him. "Cloud—I can't—" She leans forward, resting her hands on his chest. "Fuck," she moans when he hits that spot again and again. Her hips move on their own, seeking more.

Cloud's chuckle makes her open her eyes. He reaches up, running his free hand over her breasts, grasping and teasing and tugging. "Feels good?"

"You know—it does," she pants. He presses his thumb against her clit, and the friction caused by her swaying hips and the hard thrusts of his fingers tips her over. Her body grows taut only for all the tension to release at once in a long, acute swell. "Oh, _fuck_ , Cloud."

His mouth parts slightly as he watches her come, and he grunts when her nails dig into his chest. "That's it, Tifa. You look so fucking good like this."

She feels herself clenching down harder over his fingers at his words; gasps and moans escape her, her climax carrying on as Cloud slows down the thrusts of his hand, only stopping when she sags against his chest. When his fingers slip out of her, she holds in a whine. His hands run up and down her back in a lazy caress; Tifa can sense the wet trail one of his hands leaves behind, and she bites her lip as she also realizes how slick the skin of his stomach is where she straddles him.

"You good?" he murmurs.

Tifa nods then sits up to roll off him; Cloud's hands tighten on her for a second before he lets go. She runs a hand through her hair, her breathing a little heavy. Next to her, Cloud shifts, and the bed dips when he sits on the edge. A long silence settles between them before he gets to his feet, going to his dresser and rummaging through it for clean clothes. Tifa stays where she is on the bed, only putting on his shirt again to cover herself; despite what just happened—or maybe because of it—a certain vulnerability takes hold of her. Cloud takes out another shirt and some gym shorts, putting them on the dresser next to her clothes.

"I'm gonna take a shower." His voice holds a note of hesitation. "If you want, you can wear those." He points at the clothes he left.

Tifa clears her throat. "You sure?" She's not sure she wants to put her skirt and tight top—and damn it, the thigh-highs—back on just to walk a few meters down the hall.

"Yeah, it's fine. It's not like you're going far," he says with a brief laugh.

He leaves the room, and the sound of the shower starts soon after. Now that she's alone, Tifa exhales loudly, then stands up. She puts on the clothes Cloud left her, rolling the waist of the shorts so they hold over her hips. Her hair goes back into a braid; she's not up to detangle it yet. By the time Cloud is done with his shower, Tifa has gathered all of her belongings. She hears him approach and feels his presence behind her as he stops and leans forward over the couch so he can look at her face.

"What's up?" His tone is so soft that she can't help but twist to glance at him.

Tifa can't really answer him, so she says nothing. It's hard for her to say what it is she's feeling at the moment—there's certainly a good amount of self-consciousness, though she's not sure where it comes from considering what they've done together. But she thinks maybe it's because she's unsteady on her feet right now, having no idea what to expect or where they stand. Or rather, she has no idea what to expect of herself—she just knows she wants something defined, without confusion. The rest can wait.

"Hey, you can tell me," he adds when she stays silent.

She twists the tail of her braid around a finger. "This wasn't supposed to be anything beyond one night," she says at last. "I just need to know where we're headed. I know you said you don't have girlfriends." At his blank look, she goes on, "That's fine, Cloud. But I can't do this without knowing what I'm getting into. It's just not…me."

Cloud's features soften as she finishes speaking. "That's okay, we can talk about it." He straightens up and comes to sit next to her. "There doesn't have to be any obligations." Her fidgeting doesn't go past him, and he pulls her hand away from her braid. "I think having sex with you is fucking great," Cloud says with a knowing smile. "What if we agree on staying as we are? But with boundaries?"

"You mean friends with benefits?"

He shrugs. "If that's what you want to call it. I like being your friend, that matters to me. So if you're comfortable, we can do that."

Tifa turns so she faces him. "And the boundaries?"

"If either of us wants to be with someone else, we tell the other."

"So no sleeping around? Just to be clear." She frowns a little. "I'm not doing this otherwise."

A slight smirk curls his lips as he realizes she's considering it. "Yeah, exactly. You ever tell me if you want to be with anyone else, and we can end this. I'll do the same."

She gives him a nod after a few seconds of silence. "But we're keeping this to ourselves."

"That's fine. I like my privacy."

"Okay, then."

Cloud bites his bottom lip as if to stop a smile from spreading. "Perfect," he says as he stands up. "You wanna eat something?"

Though Tifa is hungry, she a need for distance grows within her—a need to digest what happened and her decision. "It's okay, thank you. I need to head back."

She doesn't miss the flash of disappointment in his expression, but he keeps it to himself. "Alright, I'll see you soon, then."

Tifa bids him a quick goodbye and walks back to her apartment, her belongings in her arms. The moment the door locks behind her, she can finally breathe. She puts away her things and takes another shower—washing her hair properly; the whole time, her mind is a jumble of thoughts, and putting them in order appears impossible for now. Tifa lets these thoughts flow and run into each other; it's only after she gets dressed and is brushing her hair that she goes back over them.

She sees nothing wrong with her decision to keep on sleeping with Cloud. But perhaps she's a little scared it isn't the best one. Still, she shakes the doubts away—if it doesn't work out, she'll tell him. As she makes herself a quick breakfast, the music drifts over from Cloud's side. It's not classical this time, but it still conjures an image of the set-apart CD case for Chopin's Nocturnes. It feels wrong to assume he did it with her in mind, and Tifa almost wishes she'd asked him—maybe then she would understand what the sting in her chest means.

—

It takes Tifa three weeks to muster the courage to go back to the Music pavilion. When she nears the piano practice room Vincent was in last time, tension grips her body, and she almost turns back. There's no music coming from the room, so she peeks inside through the small window, only to find him flipping through partitions. She hesitates for a second before knocking on the door. Vincent looks up, curiosity etched in his features; when he notices who it is, he waves her in. Tifa wavers, hand on the doorknob—she could just turn back and everything would continue as usual. But she knows she wouldn't have come here if she didn't want to take that next step. The door creaks as she opens it.

"Hey," Vincent says with a tentative smile, "I was wondering if you would come."

Tifa drops her bag on the small table in the corner. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Maybe I should have texted you."

"Oh, it's fine, don't worry." He picks one of the partitions he was going through, setting the others down on the top of the piano.

"What are you practicing?" she asks as she sits on the only chair. He turns the partition around so she can see the title; her eyebrows go up a little when she sees the title and the composer— _Trois Études de Concert_. "Liszt?"

"Yeah, the third one. _Un sospiro_."

Tifa leans back in her seat, bringing her sleeves over her hands and crossing her arms; she watches as Vincent flips to the right page. "That's not an easy one."

He glances up, and she notes the amusement in his eyes. "That's why it's fun." He tilts his head to the side as if to beckon her. "Since you're here, you wanna turn the pages for me?"

She freezes, then forces herself to breathe in and out; there's nothing scary about turning pages, really, but part of her isn't even sure she can read the music well enough anymore to be of any help.

"I can try," Tifa says after a pause, "but it's been a long time."

Vincent shrugs and places the partition on the stand. "You don't have to."

His matter-of-fact tone lets her know it's not a big deal to him, and yet Tifa can't help but be disappointed with her reaction. The courage she had gathered before coming seems to ebb away by the minute—a nervous energy seized her, and she is controlled by it, strung along a path she does not like. It's too strong for her to fight at the moment, though, and she stays where she is.

"Sorry. Maybe another time," she adds softly.

Vincent goes to say something, but he closes his mouth after turning to look at her. Tifa can guess her anxiety must be palpable—it grows under his scrutiny, and she only exhales once he turns to face the piano and positions his hands.

"No warm-up?"

He stays focused on the partition, but she catches his small, fleeting smile. "I've been at this for two hours already. You got here while I was taking a break."

Before she can answer, Vincent starts playing. Tifa holds her breath as the notes fill the air, light and clear, flowing harmoniously into each other. Vincent's left hand seamlessly crosses over his right one to play the melody; Tifa closes her eyes as he goes on, hoping the music will take her nervousness away. She faintly registers her phone buzzing on the table, but soon forgets about it. Vincent makes the occasional misstep but never stops to correct it, allowing the piece to run its course as it should.

Tifa can't say why the emotions that build up within her do. Some of it must be Vincent's interpretation of the piece, the sentiment he puts into it, giving the music its soul—there's nothing mechanical about his playing, and it only allows the already beautiful music to ascend. Tifa feels each delicate note pierce her armor; soon, there is too much space for the music to flow in and spread through her. It smears her insides with both dread and exultation, digging its claws into every crevice it finds, making a home deep within her body and her mind. Vincent keeps on playing, oblivious to her rising anxiety; it overflows as the music glides around her, and soon Tifa's breathing morphs into short, quiet gasps. That's when the vague memory echoes in her ears, overlapping with reality. Her mother sitting at the piano, playing this same étude; Tifa sitting on the rug next to her, enticed by the speed at which her Mom's hands move, and just listening, listening to the beauty her mother creates—and then wishing and hoping so hard to be able to do the same, to be like her mother who smiles at her, who stops playing to lift Tifa on the bench—her mother who is gone and will never create something beautiful ever again—

Tifa doesn't realize the music has stopped—she still hears it, the memory having overtaken everything. She notices Vincent kneeling before her, hands outstretched like he doesn't know what to do, but it's nothing more than a faint observation in the periphery of her mind. He says something—her name, she thinks—and it breaks through the fog, a disjointed sound that reminds her of where she is. Tifa hears her loud breathing, and at last her eyes focus on a worried Vincent. What happened hits her at once; she registers her body trembling as she stands up abruptly, forcing Vincent to step back. Her phone buzzes again, but she ignores it as she gathers her jacket—in her hurry, she drops her bag. It's too much—such a little thing, but it's enough to make her want to run. Her bag reappears in front of her as if by magic, and she blinks, not having seen Vincent pick it up.

"Tifa—"

She grabs the bag from him, throwing it over her shoulder. "I have to go." Her words leave her in pants, and she almost chokes on them.

Though he makes no move to stop her, there's no denying the concern in his eyes. "I don't think you should. Sit down, take a moment—"

"I can't be here—I have to go," she rushes out, stumbling over the syllables. She snatches her phone off the table and when the screen lights up, she sees the messages are from Cloud. With shaky hands, she unlocks the phone as she walks past Vincent. "I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—"

"Tifa, wait—"

But she's out in the corridor before he can say more. Everything is upside-down, her sense of direction vanishing—she just walks as far away as she can, wanting to find somewhere quiet, isolated. She ends up outside in a deserted courtyard; it's cold and dark out, but she sits on the steps leading to the door anyway. Her phone is still unlocked in her hands, Cloud's messages staring back at her, asking her if she's still at school. Maybe the sudden silence that is so oppressing is what makes her call him—Tifa doesn't care, she only needs for this stillness to break.

Cloud answers on the fourth ring, his voice muted by the noise of what seems to be a cafeteria. "Hey, what's up?"

The simple greeting shatters something inside her, preventing her from speaking. Her uneven breaths are his only answer. She leans forward, resting her head on her knees.

"Tifa?" Worry creeps into his voice. "What's going on?" The background noise fades away as if he walked out. "Where are you?"

"—again," she gasps after a pause. "It happened—again."

There's no hesitation when he says, "The music? Tell me where you are."

Tifa doesn't know if it's his understanding or his urgent tone that breaks the final restraint she had over herself—the tears fall, and a soft sob escapes her. "I'm not sure. I was—I was in the Music department." She inhales in hopes of keeping calm, but it does nothing. "I'm outside, there's a courtyard, but I—I don't—"

"It's fine, I know where that is. Give me a few minutes." He speaks over her noise of protest, "Just focus on breathing for now, okay?"

The line goes dead, and Tifa puts the phone down next to her. She covers her face with her hands as the tears come faster; there's no one around to witness her, but she needs the illusive protection. Regulating her breathing proves hard; she has no clue how many times she inhales and exhales, trying to fall into a steady rhythm. Footsteps make her look up to see Cloud jogging her way. He sits down next to her, and his presence has the tears escalate. Cloud wraps his arm around her, his hand cupping the back of her head to tuck her face into his shoulder. For a while, there is only the sound of her hushed sobs—Tifa clutches his shirt, needing to hold on to something, anything.

"What happened?" he asks in a gentle murmur once her crying eases.

Unlike last time, Tifa finds herself wanting to explain—but not about everything, and especially not about her mother. She doesn't want to leave him in the dark, not when he came to help her without hesitation.

"I was in the Music department with a Master's student," she says once she feels sure she can speak. She moves her head so her voice isn't muted by his shirt. "He was playing something that—that—"

"Yeah, I know." Cloud's voice still holds its previous softness. "Was it the same piece?" When she shakes her head, he asks, "Which one was it?"

"It doesn't matter," she mumbles.

"No, Tifa, it does." He pulls back, and she has no choice but to sit straight. "Just tell me."

The reality of what happened earlier crashes into her—Liszt's _Un sospiro_ has never been a piece she associated with her mother, not consciously. And now she understands that all the music from her childhood might be a latent trigger.

"It doesn't matter," Tifa says again as she wipes the remains of her tears away. "I didn't even know that piece would make me react like this." She lets out a short, cutting laugh. "Can we just leave it?"

Cloud says nothing for a minute, then sighs and gets up. "Alright. You wanna go back?"

She nods and leads him towards the parking lot, wordlessly offering him a lift. Cloud follows in silence. As they pass before the main entrance to the Music pavilion, Tifa hears her name; she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and turns around to face Vincent. She senses Cloud hovering behind her.

"Are you feeling better?" Vincent asks. He hides his hands in his pockets, the casual gesture betrayed by the shuffling of his feet.

Tifa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear; her throat closes up for a moment, but she finds her voice quickly enough. "I'm fine, thank you."

"You know…" Vincent hesitates, then says, "I think you should come back next week." His gaze doesn't waver at her silence. "I'm sure that it'd help in the long run."

Her grip tightens around the strap of her bag. "I'll, uh, think about it. I promise."

"Yeah, whenever you want. It can be another day. Just text me, okay?" He waits for her to nod before he asks, "Are you okay to get home?"

The warmth of Cloud's hand on the middle of her back seeps through Tifa, a reassuring touch. "I can drive," he tells her.

"Okay." She twists to glance at him, gratitude warming her. "Thank you."

"Perfect," Vincent says, bringing her attention back to him. "I'll see you around, right?"

"Yeah, of course." Tifa isn't sure if she's lying, but she figures it's the right answer to give. "Bye, Vincent."

"Have a good night." He waves before heading in the opposite direction from the parking lot.

Cloud's hand slides away from her back. "Come on, let's head back."

Once they get to her car, Tifa hands him the keys, glad he offered; the drive to their building is silent. When they reach their floor, nervousness at being alone trickles through her—the thought of being alone in her apartment and seeing the piano paralyzes her. Still, she keeps it to herself, not wanting to ask for too much. To her, it's already more than enough that he came to help. But Cloud speaks before she can.

"Want me to stay with you?"

Tifa gulps back the rising emotions warring inside her and nods. "Can we go at yours?"

In answer, Cloud grabs her hand and goes down the corridor towards his door. Something loosens inside Tifa once she steps inside his apartment—it's a safe place for her to be away from the piano that could spark more memories she doesn't want to relive.

Tifa takes off her boots and her jacket before going to lie on the couch. She hears Cloud walk in his room and then come back into the living room. He stops before the couch, staring down at her in a silent question. With a sigh, Tifa sits up; he chuckles and takes a seat next to her.

"Are you hungry? I already ate, but I'm sure I have something edible around."

"It's fine. Maybe later," she amends when she remembers how long it has been since she last ate.

"Sure." Cloud digs his phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen before putting it on the coffee table.

"Your brother again?"

He falls back against the cushions, twisting to face her and throwing an arm over the back of the sofa; his hand rests near her neck, and he plays with the loose strands of hair that escaped her ponytail.

"Not exactly," he says. "Seph's been really silent these days." Cloud sighs and pulls his hand back to his side.

For the last three weeks, Cloud and her have fallen into a rhythm that suits them. But this also means they spend more time together, and as such, Tifa has come to know some of his tells.

"Are you worried?" she asks, keeping her voice gentle.

The look he sends her makes her think he is both relieved and wary that she can read him well enough now. "Yeah, kinda." He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it into an even bigger mess. "It's just…he's so weird sometimes. He'll call and text non-stop for weeks and then go radio silent for days. Or he'll give me shitty one-word replies." Cloud grabs his phone. "I'll show you."

Tifa holds in her surprise—Cloud has never been reluctant to speak about his brother, but he's never been fully open about it. He searches for something in the messages, his frown deepening as he scrolls.

"It's like he has these mood swings," Cloud says suddenly. "I never noticed before, but looking through everything again…" He trails off, blinking in puzzlement at his screen. "He went back to live with our Mom in Kalm three months ago because he lost his job."

Tifa hums, encouraging him to continue.

"Denzel says he's been irritable when they interact, and most of the time they don't."

"Denzel?"

Cloud puts the phone down. "My little brother. He's sixteen." She nods so he can carry on. "I just realized… If I miss Seph's calls, he's never up to talk when I call back. Like if we talk it has to be on his terms." He falls silent, staring at the black screen of his phone.

Tifa debates her next words, not wanting to interrupt him; when it's clear he's done talking for now, she says, "This is just what I think, but it sounds like he's trying to reach out to you." His head snaps up at her words. "He wants your help. Perhaps he just doesn't know how to ask."

"Fuck," Cloud whispers. He ruffles his hair again. "I think you're right. Seph's always been…withdrawn, I guess. We never got along that well, so we aren't close. I don't know if—"

"Cloud." Tifa leans forward, covering his hand with hers. "Just ask him. If he wants your help and you make that step, I'm sure he'll appreciate. Ask him what is happening, what he needs, even if it's just listening to him."

He exhales loudly, then nods. "Yeah, you're right. I've just been focusing on how it affects me, I haven't given what is going on proper thought." Cloud tugs on her hand so she falls against him; he cups the back of her neck and tilts her head back. His kiss is hard at first, surprising her, but it melts into indolence. "Thanks," he says once he pulls back.

Tifa smiles, content to see him feel better. "You're welcome."

Cloud releases his hold on her neck but stays where he is and keeps her close. "Tifa, about what happened earlier—" He shakes his head as she goes to cut him off. "Please, just tell me."

"Fine," she breathes out, a little annoyed that he brought the topic back up. She quells the emotion, knowing it's unfair of her to think this way. "It was Liszt's _Un sospiro_. But Cloud, you can't keep a list of everything that does—this to me." She rolls her eyes at the _just watch me_ look he gives her. "You know I'm right."

"I don't, actually." He reaches out behind her to undo her ponytail, being careful while tugging the elastic away to avoid tangling the strands. "Are you gonna go back there?"

Tifa closes her eyes as the tension from having her hair tied up eases. "You mean the Music department?"

"Yeah."

"I think so." She opens her eyes once his hands leave her hair. "I think I owe to myself to try at least another time."

"You don't have to, you know?" At her inquisitive glance, he adds, "Whatever happened, it left a huge impact on you. Don't force yourself to see past it if you're not ready."

"I don't think I'll ever be ready," she admits, her voice low and reticent. "But it has to end at some point."

Though Cloud's uncertainty is written all over his face, he doesn't object. "That was the Master's student who played for you?"

"Yeah, Vincent. He's practicing for an event and invited me to come listen when he caught me outside his practice room." She chuckles at the memory. "I looked like an idiot, but he took it in stride."

"When you—" Cloud stops, searching for the right word. "When you panicked earlier, he was okay with you?"

"Uh-uh. I think he understood what was happening a little. Since he plays," she goes on at his silence. "But he didn't push if that's what you're asking."

Cloud gives a sharp nod. "That's good." He gets to his feet and gestures at her to do the same. "C'mon, you gotta eat now. No objections."

"Fine," Tifa sighs, doing what she can to mask her slight smile.

Cloud heats leftovers for her, and she gulps the food down, her hunger rearing its head. Once she's finished washing her dishes, Tifa walks back into the living room to find Cloud staring at his phone again. She can tell their previous conversation about his brother weighs on him, and she knows it's for the best if he calls Seph tonight before he changes his mind. Tifa drops a hand over Cloud's shoulder and squeezes.

"I'm gonna go back, okay?"

He twists around. "You don't have to," he says, sounding a little perplexed.

She points at his phone. "You should call your brother, no?"

"Yeah, but it's fine, you can stay."

Her hand slides away from his shoulder. "I'd like to be alone for a while," she says gently to soften the blow.

Tifa notices the way Cloud winces even though the movement is subtle. "Sorry, I didn't think of that." He clears his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Text me if there's anything, though, alright?"

"Yeah, don't worry." She pecks his cheek. "Good night."

"You, too."

The way he sighs the words fractures her heart a little, but Tifa still gathers her things and walks down the hall to her place. It's only once she's inside that she admits to herself that she wanted to stay.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are those....feelings I hear coming in the distance...?


	7. The Lark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little sad to say that this might be the end of quick updates as I have to return to work starting tomorrow. Still, I'll try my best to continue!
> 
> For those who might want to listen to this chapter's piece (which I highly recommend considering it's a very beautiful piece), I listened to Scheps's recording as I wrote the chapter; Kissin's version is also good (you can find both on Youtube). It's a piece that can have a very different feel depending on how it's played, at least I think so! Also, the piece Tifa overhears Vincent play at the start is Brahms's Ballade op.10 no.2. I like it a lot so here's my little shout-out to it.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> —  
> The Lark - Glinka/Balakirev

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

**7:** _The Lark_

—

Music drifts through the closed door to the practice room—heavy chords played in quick succession that ease into a simple, soothing melody. Tifa waits until Vincent is done with the piece to knock on the door. This time, she doesn't hesitate; she thought it would be worse because of what happened last week, but the episode convinced her she can't run away anymore. The soft sound of her knocks alert Vincent; he waves her in without even glancing who is at the door. With a deep breath, Tifa walks in.

"Hi," she says, her voice quieter than she'd like.

Vincent gives her a smile; it's a slight one, a little secretive, like he knows what she's thinking. "Hey. I'm glad you came back."

She drops her bag and takes off her jacket before saying, "Me too." Sincerity and nervousness seep through her words, and it doesn't go past him.

"I just want to say something first." He stares at her with that calm expression she's come to associate with him in such a brief time; for some reason, it puts her at ease. "I won't push you about what happened. But know I'll be here if you need to talk about it." He shakes his head at her blank look. "I could help you with the music aspect."

Tifa grips her phone hard before placing it on the table, making sure it's on silent. "Thanks," she says, knowing she sounds dismissive and hating herself for it. There's no doubt Vincent means well.

Despite her tone, he shrugs as if it doesn't bother him. "Keep it in mind. Now," he says as he picks up partitions, "come over here."

A little wary, she approaches the piano. "You're not gonna ask me to play, are you?"

He sends her a perplexed look. "No, that'd be a terrible idea."

"Oh." A mix of shame and irritation bursts through her. "I just… never mind."

Vincent mercifully lets it go. He hands her the stack of partitions. "You know any of these?"

"As in have I played them?" Tifa takes the booklets.

"As in which ones you've heard before."

It takes a lot out of her not to react; instead, she flips through the pile in silence, ignoring the slight tremor of her hands—she can only assume he wants to avoid a repeat of last time. The thoughtfulness grips her heart and squeezes, the pain unbearable for a short moment; it fades away as she sees the last booklet.

"This one," she says, her voice soft. "I've never heard of it." She puts the pile back on the piano and hands him the chosen partition. He doesn't take it.

"Good choice. Anything else?"

"No." She bites her lip. "But you should play what you need to. I know you have your event coming up."

"It's fine," he says with another smile. Vincent points at the partition still in her grasp. "Why don't you follow along?" At her surprised glance, he adds, "I don't need it to play. It's one of my favorites."

After a brief pause, Tifa nods and goes to sit on the chair. She runs her fingers over the cover, taking a second to read the title— _The Lark_ by Glinka, arranged for the piano by Balakirev. She opens it on the first page, not daring to glance at Vincent as the opening notes ring out. Her fingers ghosts along the page, following the progression of the music, but she pulls them back as the first broken chord sounds, soft and bittersweet. The introduction takes up the whole of the first page, a repeated pattern that anchors its melancholy within her. As Tifa listens to the singing trills played with the lightest touch, she thinks of yearning and impossible wishes, of being stuck in a cage and wanting to find your way home.

The ability to read the music is so ingrained in her that she doesn't immediately realize she's able to follow along without trouble. Vincent starts on the second page; the continuous, gentle flow of the left hand is a perfect accompaniment to the clearness of the simple melody. The notes of the cadenza run into each perfectly, and then the melody returns, more expressive but still keeping that softness—that's when Tifa stop turning the pages of the partition. The way Vincent plays, she hears the conflicting emotions building, the longing for something you've lost—or maybe for something you can only dream of; she hears the mournful determination to escape grow as high-pitched chords alternate, almost trill-like. And maybe she sees the way the cage fades away to expose the wide expanse of freedom. It becomes scary suddenly—behind the bars of the cage, there is safety and little else, but it's _familiar_ and there's reassurance in that. Tifa doesn't notice her tears falling on the pages of the booklet; she only feels the exhilaration of flying away towards the unknown in search of a home left behind. The resurgence of the introductory theme—hopeful and delicate—marks the coming ending, and Tifa can't bear the silence that will follow.

"Keep playing," she says.

It's most likely a whisper, but Vincent hears her—or maybe he just knows how oppressive the quiet can be—because he starts the piece again without pause. Tifa closes the booklet as she becomes aware of the tears; one hand comes up to wipe them away. She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, and allows herself to bask into the music. She's not sure why she reacted the way she did—part of her thinks it's a culmination; that she was bound to end up here. Vincent's understanding and kindness were nothing more than the catalyst. But this piece also made her think of the piano back home—the one in her childhood house; the one she first played on; her mother's piano. It made her recall many things: the feel of her fingers against the keys, the tranquility of being surrounded by the echo of the music, the satisfaction and pride making her soar whenever she mastered difficult passages—and most of all, the delighted glint in her mother's eyes as she watched Tifa play. It's too much at once, and Tifa lets out a sob as she understands she was wrong this whole time; she didn't play for her mother—all those years she played for herself, for the joy it brought her and the people she cared for. The realization almost feels like a betrayal of her Mom—and maybe of herself, too. Her mother never would have wanted her to stop playing, not when she loved this part of Tifa so completely, and not when she wanted Tifa to lull her into a never-ending sleep because then she would hear her daughter's soul sing one last time.

( _Your song, Tifa, is not something you can hear. It's who you are. It's the music you create as you smile at me or laugh with your Dad. I find it in everything you do and say, sweetheart. I love it most when you play for me and I can see how happy that makes you. Will you play for me, sweetheart? I want to hear you again. I want to see you happy again._ )

The music stops, eventually; Tifa can't tell how long Vincent played or when he stopped. She stares at the partition for _The Lark_ as she says, "My mother taught me the piano. I started when I was six."

Despite the hushed tone of her confession, Vincent hears her. "Is she the reason you stopped playing?"

The directness of his question might have scared her any other day. "Yes. She—" Tifa exhales to compose herself. "She got sick, and she wanted me to play for her. I did recordings." She runs her hand over the cover of the booklet. "She was listening to one as she—as—" She raises her head, looking at him; he doesn't flinch away.

"And then you couldn't play anymore," he concludes for her. "How long?"

"It's been four years," she whispers.

Vincent nods, the movement absent-minded. He plays a few chords—the ones for the C major scale—over different octaves, as if he needs to keep busy while he thinks.

"I miss it." The admission is ripped out of Tifa, almost violent in its release. She chokes on the words for a moment but swallows down the rising tears. "Deep down, I knew I missed it, but I didn't realize how _much_."

He plays a chromatic scale but halts like he's decided something. "Come over here," he says, waving her over. "Bring the chair."

As Tifa gets up and drags the chair next to the piano, she's aware what Vincent wants to do, and yet she doesn't protest. A crack formed in the grave she buried the music in, and it slowly seeps out and back to life.

Vincent stands and gestures at her to take his place at the bench. Once Tifa is seated, she keeps her hands in her lap. He sits in the chair next to her. "Play the C major scale."

Though she's done exercises a few times during the last month, there was no scrutiny, so stress other than the one she forced upon herself. "I'm not sure…" She trails off at his encouraging expression. "Alright."

She positions her hands above the keys, but Vincent reaches out. "Don't forget to keep them loose and a little rounded." He takes hold of one hand and corrects its placement, then does the same with the other. "Start off at a comfortable tempo. Two octaves."

Tifa plays the scale before she can overthink this. It's not as mechanical as the previous times, probably because of Vincent's presence and instructions. It makes her self-conscious; her body warms from the nervousness, and her mouth dries as she waits for the criticism. But it doesn't come. Vincent only asks her to play again, faster this time. Then, it's chords, arpeggios, diminished seventh chords, chromatics, and the relative minor scales. Tifa stumbles at first, but the false sentiment of pressure vanishes as she continues playing, and instead an easiness settles between.

"Good technique," he comments as she finishes the melodic A minor scale. "Do you think you could play a piece?"

"Oh." Tifa reflexively pulls her hands back to her side. "Maybe another day," she says, a little wistful. "I think this is enough for today."

Vincent grabs a sheet of paper from his backpack and the pencil lying on the stand. "Go through your scales one by one to start with." He writes what she guesses are instructions on the paper. "If you still have your Hanon book, try the exercises I listed here. If not, you can get them online now. And think of two pieces you'd like to learn. Something intermediate to ease in, and something on the advanced side to hone your technique. I have a few ideas already, so I wrote them down."

Tifa stares at him as he speaks, and when he presents the sheet to her, she takes it without a word, too stunned. A glance at the bottom of the paper shows her his suggestions in a thin scrawl:

_Rêverie or Clair de lune, Debussy_

_Serenade, Schubert (the Horn arrangement)_

_Nocturne op 9 no 1 or op 27 no 1, Chopin_

_Prelude op 23 no 5, Rachmaninoff_

_Consolation no 3, Liszt_

"Have you played any of these before?" Vincent asks as she says nothing.

She nods, blinking repeatedly. "The Debussy and Chopin. But Vincent—" With a shake of her head, she hands him the sheet back. "I'm not asking for lessons. I—I can't."

"Why?"

Such a simple question, and yet Tifa has difficulty finding her answer. "I'm not ready to play yet."

He gently pushes her hand back to her side. "I'm not asking you to play. I'm asking you to _think_ about playing. Think of what you enjoyed about music, what your reason used to be." He smiles. "I promise one day you'll find a reason again. People like us… we can't leave the music behind. Not really."

Her hand curls around the paper, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "Okay," she whispers. "I'll do that."

"You won't regret seeking that part of yourself, Tifa. I'll be here when you're ready."

"Thank you." Tifa bites her lip as she folds the sheet in half. "What you just did… you don't know what it means to me."

Vincent moves so she can go back to the table. "I think I know, actually. You'd be surprised."

"You're right, sorry," she says softly as she puts on her jacket and shoulders her bag. "In any case, I can't thank you enough."

He sits back on the bench. "You can stay. I still have practice to do."

"I think for today… this has been enough." Tifa's lips turn up in the semblance of a smile. "I'll come back next week."

"Good. I'm here for the next two weeks, after that I'll be back in January. If you still want to swing by, I'll let you know on what day then. And—" He closes his mouth like he changed his mind.

Tifa stops before the piano on her way out. "And what?"

With a shrug, he says, "I'd like it if you came to the event in March. Just think about it and let me know at some point."

"Oh, you mean…" She clears her throat. "As a date?"

"Well, not really." Vincent chuckles at the flash of relief she's sure must show in her eyes. "I don't need to be accompanied, but it'd be more fun for me. And I'd like you to hear me play. I guess you can say it'd be a friendly date."

His casual mention of them being friends decides for Tifa. "I'll be happy to accompany you, then," she says, truly smiling this time.

"Perfect. See you next week, Tifa." He returns her smile before busying himself with his partitions again.

Hand on the doorknob, Tifa hesitates for a second. She's tempted to stay but knows it's better for her not to get overwhelmed. She twists her head to say, "Thank you again."

He waves at her over his shoulder. "Don't mention it."

As she walks out of the Music pavilion and to her car, a certain peace settles around Tifa, like she's lifted a veil that blinded her and now she sees the world as it really is. There's relief at the thought, but also some fear because now she can't pretend to be ignorant anymore. Tifa sighs as she drives, deciding that, for tonight, music has invaded her mind enough.

She walks into her building and up to her door; the loud beat of Cloud's music drifts into the hallway. For a second, she considers knocking on his door but chooses not to. A loud crash sounds from Cloud's apartment; Tifa freezes, her key still in the lock. The music stops and more noise follows along with curses. After a moment of hesitation and more colorful language from him, she locks her door again and walks down to his.

"Cloud?" She makes sure her voice is loud as she knocks.

It takes a moment for him to answer the door. His hair is a bigger mess than usual and a deep frown mars his features; there's an edge to him that makes her think something bad happened.

"Are you okay?" she asks before he can say anything.

He takes a deep breath as if to prevent himself from snapping at her; his impatience is palpable, but she's glad he contains it as he says, "One of my bookcases collapsed."

Tifa knows how loaded and messy said bookcases are, and though she isn't surprised something like this happened, she abstains from letting him know. "Do you need any help to clean up?"

"I can do it," he sighs. "But thanks."

"Don't be stupid." Tifa elbows past him to enter the apartment.

"Tifa—"

She drops her bag in the entryway and takes off her boots. "What, are you hiding something?"

Cloud shuts the door. "No," he says as he sends her a dry look. "I'm just in a bad mood."

"Yeah, I imagine." Her chuckle makes him roll his eyes. "Oh, shit," she whispers as she walks into the living room and witnesses the heap of books on the floor; two shelves seem to have caved in. She pushes back her sleeves. "Well, let's get to it, shall we?"

Considering Cloud's self-declared foul mood, they work in relative silence as they pick up the books and CDs that scattered on the floor; he puts on the music again, at a lower volume. Cloud grumbles as they find some open cases with the disks lying next to them.

"Why so many CDs?" Tifa asks as they make tidy piles on the floor near the window. Not an ideal spot, but it'll have to do in the meantime.

"I go to thrift shops a lot." Cloud focuses on the task at hand. "It started as a hobby, just collecting music from artists I didn't know since they were so cheap. I found I like discovering new music."

She finishes stacking up the last books around her and takes in Cloud—the tense shoulders and the brusque movements. Tifa waits until he's also done before saying, "What's going on, Cloud? Is it Seph?"

Cloud places the last book down with too much strength. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Oh, okay."

Silence falls, and after a minute, Cloud gets up and goes to sit on the couch. Tifa stays where she is, going over the CDs, her eyes stopping on the pile of classical music; one of them grabs her attention as she spots the _Glinka-Balakirev_ script on the cover. She grabs it; it includes _The Lark_ as part of the selected pieces. Tifa stands up, tugging down her skirt that rode up, and takes a seat next to Cloud. He glances at the case in her hand but says nothing.

"This piece… _The Lark_ …" Tifa meets his gaze. "I just found out about it today."

"It's a pretty one," he says, a sparkle of curiosity in his voice. "Where did you hear it?"

"Vincent played it for me earlier."

Cloud blinks in succession as if taken aback. "Shit, I'm sorry, I forgot to ask if you'd gone back." He exhales, loud and frustrated. "How did it go?"

She smiles. "It wasn't easy, but it was worth it, I think."

"That's good." Cloud flees her eyes, and her smile dims; something must have gone down with Seph.

"Now," she says as she puts the case on the table, "what happened?" His frown returns and he stays quiet. After a moment, Tifa sighs. "Fine, I won't push."

But he speaks suddenly like the words have been forced out of him. "After I talked to Seph last week, I thought—" He cuts himself off, then continues, "He called back earlier, and he told me how he's been recently."

Tifa nods to let him know she's listening.

"It's not good," Cloud says. "He said it'd been going on for a while, but when he lost his job, it got worse."

"Is he depressed?" she asks softly.

It's his turn to nod. "No diagnostic since he didn't go see anyone, but yeah… He hasn't told Mom, and he asked me not to."

"But you think you should."

"I mean…yeah." He rubs his forehead. "But he trusted me not to. I won't say anything. For now, at least. It's just—" Cloud huffs, then laughs, quiet and sad. "He was sending me signals this whole time, and I didn't understand. I assumed since we weren't close…" He doesn't finish his sentence. "Fuck, I'm stupid."

"Cloud…" Tifa scoots closer and drops a hand on his arm. "Sometimes people don't want to let others know something is wrong, and they hide it very well."

"But he wanted me to know or he wouldn't have reached out so much. His messages were so weird, I should have _known_." He closes his eyes in resignation. "But I just didn't want to bother."

"I don't think he wanted you to know," she says, making him look at her. "Or he would have told you. He wanted your help but didn't know how to ask. These situations aren't black and white, Cloud." She squeezes his arm. "They're not that simple."

Cloud slides down the sofa, resting his head back on the cushions to stare at the ceiling. "You're right…"

Another silence settles between them, but this time, Tifa can tell most of the tension has evaporated; Cloud inhales and exhales slowly, deeply, and after a while, she sees his shoulders loosen.

"Anything I can do to cheer you up?"

He twists his head her way. "Tifa, no, you don't have to do anything," he says. She hears the bewilderment in his voice.

"I know." Tifa holds his stare for a moment but wavers as she adds, "I just want you to feel better—to feel good."

"Tifa, this isn't—I'm not—" He sighs out his frustration.

The hand that had stayed on his arm slithers up to his shoulder. "I know," she says again, softer this time.

She leans forward to kiss him, taking him by surprise; Cloud groans as her kiss turns aggressive, and he frames her face in his hands. Tifa can't tell if he wants to push her away or pull her closer. In the end, she's the one who backs away to stare at him.

"Tifa, I'm not—I'm not going to fuck you to distract myself," he says, his voice a little breathy.

"No, you won't," she agrees, speaking against his lips before giving him another hard kiss. "You'll fuck me because you want to." She watches his eyes widen just enough to betray his surprise. "And because I want you to."

"Fuck." The curse leaves him in a whisper.

"Uh-uh." Tifa undoes a few buttons of her blouse, and his eyes stray down. She grips one of his hands cradling her cheek and slides it past the collar of her shirt. "Am I wrong?"

She notes the taut lock of his jaw. "You know I want you, but—" He grunts as she stops his words with more kisses. His hand on her chest flexes, and she presses it tighter against her body. "I don't want you to think I'd be using you," he says, slanting back to break the kiss.

"I trust you," Tifa tells him as if it explains everything.

Maybe it does to him—to both of them—because Cloud doesn't stop her as she unfastens his belt and pulls down the zipper to his jeans. He just tugs her head up to keep on kissing her as she moves on to unbuttoning his plaid shirt; Tifa rubs him through his briefs, eliciting short, muted moans from him. There's something vulnerable about Cloud right now, something she wants to chase away. As she kneels on the couch and bends to take him in her mouth, she drinks in his pleased noises mixing in with the music still playing in the background. Cloud pushes the heavy mass of her hair over her neck so he can look at her; his other hand shoves her skirt up to her waist and glides down her ass, beneath her panties. Tifa grips his thigh as his fingers brush over her. He sinks a finger into her as she releases him to take a moment to breathe properly; she gasps at the sudden sensation, and Cloud forces her to straighten and straddle him with a hand around the back of her neck.

He says nothing, just kisses her as his hand pumps in and out of her; when she pushes it away and lowers herself unto him, he swears in her mouth. Tifa stays still at first, finishing to unbutton her blouse and undoing the front clasp of her bra. Cloud whispers something inaudible into her neck as she presses her chest against his and starts moving. His silence is only broken by his pants, and Tifa misses his voice. She leans back, arching her back a little and resting her hands on his legs; she keeps her hips swaying leisurely as he stares at her.

Tifa is aware of how she looks, clothes askew and riding him, as she says, "Talk to me."

Cloud slides a hand over her, from her throat to her chest; he palms a breast, then runs his knuckles over her nipple, coaxing a sigh from her. "You want me to tell you how good you look?" She shakes her head. "How good you make me feel?" His question makes her breath hitch, and she clenches around him; Cloud's hand on her ass tightens in answer. "Fuck, you love that."

She can only nod and let out a whimper as the hand that had been on her breast finds her clit; he bears down on it with his thumb but doesn't move, letting her create the friction she needs with the sway of her hips.

"You're driving me crazy right now." Cloud's whisper is almost lost to their loud breathing and the music. "Fuck, Tifa, come closer." He grabs her ass with both hands, pushing her until she's flush against him; she wraps her arms around his shoulders, moaning into his neck at the feeling of her skin sliding over his. "Yeah, it's better, isn't it?"

His hands compel her to keep moving in his lap. "Yes," she gasps. One of her hands winds into the hair at the nape of his neck while the other grasps his shirt.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he breathes out, "I love feeling you like this."

Tifa's ears fill with his voice, his sighs, the music; it all feels more intense than usual, she thinks. Her hips move faster, meeting the hardness of his thrusts and craving a release that builds slow and fierce. Cloud comes first, his grip on her tightening, his eyes closing as he groans her name. He wraps one arm around her back so she melts into him as his hips slow down but don't stop.

"Are you close?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Yes, yes." Her face is still buried in his shoulder, but he hears her whine nonetheless.

The hand on her back slips beneath her shirt, caressing the skin there. "Tell me what you need."

Tifa feels her legs clench as the ferocity of her release keeps growing. "Just—fuck, _Cloud_ —please—" Her voice gets louder, her grasp on him stronger. She has the faint impression that her moans would usually make her shy. "I need—ah, fuck—more, Cloud, please, _please_ —"

"Yeah, I got you," Cloud whispers in her ear.

His fingers seek her clit, and this time there's no teasing; her body tenses as her climax crashes into her, the sensation strong and stretched-out. She comes with a cry that fades into soft moans as she sags against his chest. Tifa slackens her hold on his neck and shirt, raising her head from his shoulder as she tries to catch her breath. As she opens her eyes, the first thing she notices is an open-mouthed Zack standing in the entrance, a bag of books at his feet as if he dropped it.

The yells Tifa lets out makes Zack shout in return. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

It all alerts Cloud, who tucks her against his chest as he sits straight; Tifa hides her face in his neck and grips his shirt as awkwardness and embarrassment rise within her. "What the fuck, Zack! Turn around!"

"I _am_! Shit, I am _so_ sorry!"

"How long—"

"I just got here, I swear! I was dropping by to give you back the books—"

"I gave you a fucking key for _emergencies_!"

"You just didn't hear me knock since you guys—you—it was—it was loud!"

Cloud must sense the sudden unevenness of her breathing because he cups the back of her neck, a reassuring gesture.

"Fucking hell, would you _shut_ _up_!"

Tifa's panic grows as she becomes aware of the soreness of her muscles, of the warmth where Cloud and her are still joined, of her state of undress—as she realizes Zack saw her and apparently heard her a little too well as she came. Tears well up, but she holds them back.

"I didn't mean—"

"Get out!"

"I need to talk to you—"

"It can wait— _go outside_!" Cloud's furious tone leaves no room for discussion, and she hears retreating footsteps and a door shut. "Tifa—"

She pushes off him and doesn't wait for him to say anything else; she runs for the bathroom, Cloud's loud cursing echoing after her. Once the door is locked behind her, Tifa finally notes the slight trembling of her body. Mortification swells as she feels wetness trailing between her legs; she scrambles for some tissues to wipe it. As she does, she catches sight of her reflection—the redness coloring her cheeks and neck, a consequence of both her climax and her humiliation; how her skirt is hitched up to her waist, her bra and blouse hanging open. With shaky hands, Tifa straightens her clothes, then splashes water over her face, hoping to calm down. Maybe if this had happened another time, she wouldn't react so strongly. But Zack had to walk in on them on the day she was already vulnerable from her time with Vincent—on the day sex with Cloud felt so intense to her, she thought she would fragment as she came.

After a few minutes, her breathing stabilizes, and she regains enough control to go back into the living room. As she opens the door, she finds Cloud leaning against the opposite wall, his clothes back in order. He stands straight when she comes out.

"Tifa—"

"I'm heading back," she says without looking at him.

He doesn't stop her as she walks by him. "I didn't know he was coming by tonight, I swear." A sharp nod is his only reply. "You can stay if you're not feeling okay or—"

"I am _not_ feeling okay, Cloud!" she hisses, whirling to face him. He steps back out of surprise. "And that's why I'm not staying here! Zack _saw_ me as I came harder than—" She cuts herself off, focusing on putting on her boots instead.

"I know," Cloud says, soft and despairing. "I felt you. Tifa, I don't want to leave you alone when you're this upset. I'll talk to Zack and I'll come see you after."

"No." Her refusal makes him flinch, but it doesn't change her mind. "I want to be alone," she whispers, the fight draining out of her.

She watches him from the corner of her eyes as she grabs her jacket; he shoves his hands in his pockets and nods, his gaze glued to the floor. "Okay. I understand."

Tifa picks up her bag; for a second, she doesn't know how to part with him, a self-consciousness she hasn't felt around him in a long time rearing back its head. But Cloud saves her from saying anything.

"At least text me to let me know how you're doing, please."

His voice is so gentle that she can't deny him; Tifa nods and exits the apartment. Zack paces the hall as she walks out; his head snaps up, but that's all she sees of him before she looks away.

"Tifa, wait—I'm sorry." Zack's pleading tone doesn't make her halt. Her hands shake a little as she unlocks her door. "Tifa—"

She gets inside and slams the door behind her, cutting off Zack's voice. Muted angry mutterings and indignant objections are all she hears from the hall as Cloud must usher Zack inside. In a rare show of childishness, Tifa lets her bag and jacket drop on the floor, not even wincing at the loud thud it creates. Her boots off, she pads into her living room and turns on the TV as a distraction from her whirring mind. Once it becomes obvious it won't work, she jumps into the shower, hoping the lengthy process of washing and drying her hair will divert her attention. It works for a while—as she puts on comfortable clothes and brushes out her hair, the feeling of embarrassment comes back over her. Tifa groans and throws the hairbrush on the bed. She checks her phone, half-dreading finding messages from Cloud. But there is none, only two from Zack and one from Vincent. She opens Zack's, figuring she should rip off the band-aid first; he didn't write in their group chat, and she realizes this is the first time he's ever texted her personally. For a second, she finds it strange to see his name next to the message instead of **Mastermind**.

**Zack** : _i am so sorry_

**Zack:** _i promise to bleach my mind_

The attempt at humor would have perhaps angered her from someone else, but she knows Zack's is genuine—it's his way of dealing with problems. Still, Tifa doesn't reply, not in the mood to start this conversation. She sighs, then opens Vincent's message.

**Vincent:** _The event is on March 17_ _th_ _. Dress code is black tie optional. I'll send you more details once I have them. Have a great night._

There's something funny about Vincent's proper speech and punctuation, and Tifa can't help her chuckle as she replies.

**Tifa:** _perfect, i'll add it to my calendar. good night!_

An incoming message from Cloud has her slight smile vanish. Nothing is wrong with his message, she finds—her reaction is due to the tight sensation in her chest mixed in with leftover awkwardness.

**Cloud** : _are you feeling better_

She hesitates, uncertain what to tell him; she settles for the truth.

**Tifa** : _a little. i was just so humiliated_

**Cloud:** _i'm sorry Tifa._

It's still too overwhelming for her to talk to him about this, but she appreciates that he doesn't make excuses for Zack. Biting her lip, Tifa sends him another message.

**Tifa:** _i know it's not your fault. but tonight i need some time alone ok? i'll talk to you over the weekend. good night_

Cloud's message takes a few minutes to come in and it's a simple _ok good night_ , not that she had expected much else, knowing he'd respect the boundaries she put in place. But the curtness of it still hurts a little. With a loud exhale, she puts her phone on silent and decides to study for a while.

Once she's done, Tifa settles down in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal, deciding that, for the remainder of the night, she wants nothing more than mindless entertainment.

The piano haunts the periphery of her vision, whispering at her to play, but she fights back.

She's had enough emotions for one night.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, and I had to add a chapter to this story. More content, so sad sniff sniff.


	8. Rêverie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Found some time so here we are. 
> 
> —  
> Rêverie - Debussy

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

**8:** Rêverie

—

The door to Cloud's apartment looms before Tifa; the thought of seeing him still embarrasses her a little, but there is no avoiding Cloud forever. She doesn't want to, anyway. With that in mind, Tifa knocks and waits. It doesn't take long for footsteps to be heard and for the door to open. Cloud doesn't appear surprised to see her there, but there is a certain awkwardness surrounding him, as if he's unsure how to act. Tifa figures the same applies to her.

"Hi," she says, "can I come in?"

He moves to let her pass. "Yeah, of course."

She walks into the living room, waiting for him; the door shuts, and she catches on to his pause before he comes to stand before her, leaning against the arm of the couch. Tifa crosses her arms over her chest as they stare at each other for a moment; now that she's here, the words she had meant to say escape her.

"How are you?" His voice is soft, maybe a little hesitant.

"I'm fine." She looks down. "Sorry about how I reacted on Friday."

He sighs. "Tifa, no, don't apologize. Zack was in the wrong, and believe me, he knows."

"Well, that's true…" Tifa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "What did you tell him?"

"That it wasn't any of his business," Cloud says with a frown. "What we have is between us. Isn't that what we agreed on?"

It takes Tifa a few seconds to reply. Something about his lack of explanation to Zack bugs her; it feels both sincere and dishonest. But she can't deny it is what they decided together. "Yes. I was just wondering."

"Tifa…" He fidgets with his watch. "Are we okay?"

"I just needed some time. I mean, I was really embarrassed, and you reminded me too much of what happened." She takes in his terse nod. "What's wrong?"

"I just… You're my friend," he says quietly. "I don't want to lose that."

His words startle her, and she's uncertain why. Maybe it's the honesty she hears in his voice and how it makes her realize Cloud really sees her as a friend despite everything. And then she chastises herself for thinking it could have been different. From the start, they defined what they are, and she knew better than to let her mind wander. But she finds it _did_ wander against her will; the awareness makes her uncomfortable, and she flees his gaze.

"Don't worry about that," she ends up saying.

Cloud doesn't relax at her answer. While she figures she should probably add something to alleviate his worries, right now she can't find the will to. She both wants for things to change and for them to return as they were; it makes standing here in heavy silence unbearable.

"I need to go back to study," she lies. If he sees through it, he keeps it to himself. "I'll speak to Zack when I feel ready to. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Alright."

The flash of disappointment in his eyes is what convinces Tifa to turn around and walk for the door. Once she's back inside her apartment, the music starts; it's nothing more than the echo of a soft rock song, and Tifa wonders if he lowered the volume out of consideration for her even when she's told him it's not a bother.

It's dark and cold in the apartment—Tifa turns on a few lights as she heads for her bedroom. She wants a distraction from her thoughts and putting away laundry will do just that. The mechanical work doesn't keep her busy for long; as she gets to the bottom of the basket, she finds a dark blue men's turtleneck. Tifa blinks in surprise, having forgotten Cloud had left this over once and she'd washed it. She picks it up and debates going back to his place to give it back—but for some reason, she doesn't want to. All the things she hadn't wanted to think about rush back as she sits on the edge of her bed. She has to redefine what her relationship with Cloud means; there's no point in denying she might like him anymore, and lying to herself won't help.

Tifa bites her lip as she runs her hand over the sweater. The part of her that wants things to return to normal longs to act. It's simpler to choose this direction than to wonder and worry about possibilities that won't see the light of day. Maybe she felt too comfortable in her friendship with Cloud; maybe she shouldn't have entered a sexual relationship with someone who saw a deeply buried facet of her soul. She's not sure why she puts on the turtleneck—she takes the easy way out and tells herself the chill of the apartment got too much and it looked cozy. Once it's on, Tifa feels the coveted warmth seep into her. A trickle of embarrassment follows, but she chases it away.

It's already late, but she keeps busy with chores and studying until fatigue settles in. As she takes off her pants to change into her pajamas, Tifa remembers she's still wearing Cloud's sweater; she catches her reflection in her standing mirror. She finds herself liking the way the turtleneck hugs her chest and is baggy around her waist; the way the hem skims the top of her thighs and the sleeves fall over her fingers. Her bare legs transform the look into something a bit indecent, a bit provocative. She likes it, though—and she bites her lip as she realizes she wants Cloud to see her like this. A blush spreads over her cheeks, the latent embarrassment surfacing. But it doesn't deter her as she picks up her phone.

She takes a few photos of herself in the mirror, getting different angles, lifting up the sweater teasingly at times. When she scrolls through them, her face heats even more. There's nothing blatantly explicit about most of the pictures, but they still make her shy. Tifa throws her phone on the bed before putting on her pajamas. She goes about her routine, doing her best to shove the pictures out of her mind. But as she plugs the phone to charge and sees her unread message from Cloud, panic overtakes her—she didn't send the photos by accident, did she? But Cloud's message is a simple _i have something on tuesday so go on without me_. It takes Tifa a second to understand what he means and then remember she usually drives them to school. She types a quick reply telling him it's fine, but something about it doesn't feel _fine_. And she thinks maybe Cloud doesn't know where they stand either—maybe he is avoiding her. She wouldn't be surprised if it was the case. This, more than anything else, is what decides for her—before she can think of possibilities, she has to fall back into what they have for now.

—

The message comes in on a Thursday morning as Tifa gets ready. When she sees the name of the sender, she can't help her grimace.

**Zack:** _can we meet to talk later?_

With a sigh, Tifa sits down on her bed, debating her answer. While she knows she can't run away from Zack forever—though it is tempting—it still isn't easy for her to meet him. She reminds herself it's like a band-aid—better to rip it off as quickly as possible.

**Tifa:** _what time? i have an exam at 12h. ends at 15h_

**Zack:** _right after your exam? the student lounge in the computer science wing._

**Tifa:** _alright_

The thought of going to the Computer Science wing makes her think she hasn't seen or heard from Cloud since Sunday almost two weeks back, which only solidified her suspicions that he might be avoiding her. With a huff, Tifa walks to her closet to get her clothes for the day; as she grabs a skirt and tights, she sees Cloud's turtleneck still folded on the top of her dresser. She'd meant to give it back to him, but something had stopped her—if he wanted his sweater back, the least he could do is _talk_ to her. Tifa glances between the turtleneck and the skirt in her hand; if she wants to regain her footing with Cloud, she has to make the first step, that much is obvious.

The sweater fits better once tucked into her skirt, the cinched waist preventing it from looking too big. As she goes to put her tights, she hesitates and then grabs black thigh highs; there's no doubt those are the best way to incite a reaction out of him. She braids her hair, grabs her bag and her jacket, puts on her boots, and leaves for school. Staying in any longer will make her overthink and change her mind.

The rest of her morning goes by quickly; by the time her last exam of the semester is over, Tifa has almost forgotten about Zack until she glances at her phone and sees another message from him. Her resolve to meet him wavers, but she sends a brief reply saying she's on her way. Rip off the band-aid, she reminds herself.

The student lounge is easy to find, and Zack even easier to spot; he gets up as soon as he spots her and hands her a coffee without a word. Tifa takes it with a strained smile as they sit; she shoves her jacket into her bag and puts it on the floor.

"I didn't know what you wanted for the coffee, so I brought a bit of everything," he says. He rummages through his backpack to find a small paper bag filled with cream singles and sugar packets.

"Thanks." Tifa picks what she needs from the bag.

As she dumps the cream and sugar into her coffee, he says, "I'm really, really, _really_ sorry."

Though his apology brings her back to that Friday, she focuses on the present; still, she finds it hard to meet his eyes. "I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"No, but I still shouldn't have come in." He gives her a sheepish smile. "I don't always think before I act."

Tifa takes a sip of the coffee. Her silence makes Zack fidget, and she lets him stew for a minute.

"What did Cloud tell you?" The question leaves her before she can swallow it down.

"Mostly how much of a dumb fuck I am," Zack says with a wince. "But if you mean about you and him, he didn't say anything." He plays with the cardboard sleeve around his coffee cup.

She recognizes the nervous gesture for what it is and sighs. "What is it you want to say?"

"Cloud doesn't really date." The way he speaks is careful, as if he's afraid to hurt her.

"I'm aware," she says.

Zack looks away from her. "Okay, I just wanted you to know."

"Do you know why?"

"He tried when he was younger." He shrugs. "Never worked out, I guess. Then he fell into the habit of these, uh, relationships."

Tifa nods before drinking more coffee. Zack runs a hand through his hair as her silence stretches. She's not trying to make him uncomfortable this time—it's more that she doesn't know what to say.

"You know," he says softly, "that doesn't mean he doesn't care."

The statement doesn't surprise her, but it still twists her heart. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I knew that."

"He cares about you."

She sighs, not wanting to go down that road. Not now. "Zack—"

"I could see it." At this, she glares at him, making him flinch. "I promise this is the only time I'll bring it up!" More quietly, he adds, "Cloud is a big softie inside, but he likes to act tough."

His phone beeps, startling them both out of the conversation, and Tifa is glad it gives her a reprieve from answering. Zack looks at the message before turning to her.

"Aerith says she's on her way with your other friend. Yuffie?" He waits for her nod to continue. "And Cloud was supposed to meet me in about thirty minutes, but he says he's already done with his exam. You wanna stay?"

Tifa takes a big gulp of coffee; she had planned on seeing Cloud anyway, but the public setting discourages her a bit. Still, she says, "Yeah, sure."

"Hey. We okay?"

Zack's voice lacks his usual confidence, and though she had already planned on forgiving him, it sways her in his favor. "We are only if you never speak of what happened again."

"I swear it," he says, solemn.

His seriousness, though genuine, makes her chuckle. "I'll give you one more chance."

"One more chance for what?"

Tifa jumps at Aerith's voice behind her, almost spilling coffee on her lap. Zack grins and scoots to make space for Aerith. Thankfully, she doesn't push her questioning.

"Have you seen Reno?" Yuffie plops down on another couch. She waves her hand around. "You two are so obsessed with the other, I figure you might have an idea."

"Uh, I don't," Zack says. His smirk lets Tifa know he isn't telling the truth, but she doesn't comment on it.

From the corner of her eyes, Tifa spots Cloud walking into the lounge. He halts when he spots them but then resumes walking towards the occupied couches. With a greeting nod, he takes a place on the same couch as Yuffie. Tifa tries to catch his gaze as he focuses on taking out his water bottle and staring at anything but her. He's a little too far for her to speak with him without directing all the attention on them. Annoyance builds within her—he could at least make an effort at being normal. She tries to reason with herself, remembering how awkward he can be.

As the conversation flows between the group, Cloud grabs his phone, and Tifa sees this as an opportunity. She had never sent the pictures she took that night, alternating between feeling too shy about it and being too irritated with his avoidance to consider it seriously. But his lack of acknowledgment today is the push she needed, and Tifa takes out her phone, placing the coffee cup on a nearby table. She runs her tongue over her lip as she chooses which photos to send. Her blush stays under control, maybe because of her determination. She picks two pictures—a simple shot from the front to showcase the turtleneck, and one from a side angle where the hem of the sweater is up just enough to be teasing. As she goes to send them, Tifa decides to add a third, more provocative one where she holds the turtleneck at midriff level. Before she can hesitate, she types _you forgot something the other day_ and hits 'send'.

Tifa has to hide her forming smirk behind her hand as she watches Cloud frown as he gets a new message; he opens it while he brings his bottle up to drink. She bites her lip to hold in the laughter as he chokes on his gulp of water.

"You okay, man?"

Everyone turns to Cloud as he taps on his chest and coughs up whatever went down the wrong way. "Yeah, I'm fine," he rasps.

"Are you sure?" Tifa asks with concern and innocent eyes.

Cloud gives a terse nod but at last looks at her; she takes the opportunity to cross her legs, putting on display the thigh highs she's wearing. The smile that threatens to spread as his eyes stray to her legs can barely be held back. When his gaze goes up to find her in his sweater, Cloud rubs his cheek with his hand and turns his head away. Tifa isn't even pretending to listen to the ongoing conversation between the others as she observes Cloud—maybe she finds a little too much satisfaction in seeing him react like this.

It's the stomping coming towards the lounge that alerts Tifa; she twists her head to see an angry Reno heading straight for them. She gasps as she spots all the fine glitter stuck to his clothes and hair.

"Zack, I think you should run," she says loudly.

On cue, Reno shouts, "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Oh, this is _good_." Zack grabs Aerith's hand and stands up before Reno can be upon them. "Someone _please_ immortalize this for me!" He runs in the opposite direction from Reno, dragging Aerith with him, who waves at Tifa with a huge smile.

"You look cute," Yuffie coos as she takes pictures of Reno once he's close enough. "Turn a little to catch the light, would you?"

The glare he sends her only makes her snicker. "You're such a fucking traitor."

Yuffie shrugs and twirls her finger in a signal to turn for a better angle.

" _You_ ," Reno hisses at Cloud, "I know you helped him."

Cloud's eyes dart between the nearest exit and Reno, and he springs up, picking up his bag and indicating at Tifa to do the same. She reacts in time to follow him; Cloud turns on his heels before they leave the lounge and gives Reno a mocking salute.

"You're all cowards!"

Cloud laughs as they retreat, the sound loud and warm, and Tifa thinks this might be the first time she hears such freedom from him. He leads them around the Computer Science wing until they reach a corridor giving way to a staircase.

"I think we lost him a long time ago," Tifa says, a little amused. "Are you that afraid of him?"

"No way." He opens the door to an empty classroom; the wall of windows brightens the room, and Cloud doesn't turn on the lights. Tifa's pulse accelerates as she walks in and the door shuts behind her.

"What is it you want to talk about?" she asks, having an idea and playing innocent.

"Who says I want to talk?" He grabs her hand and pulls them deeper into the room, away from the door.

Tifa isn't surprised when he kisses her and pushes into her until she's backed against the nearest desk. Her bag drops to the floor, and she grips the lapels of his jacket. Cloud tilts her head back as he breaks away so she has no choice but to look at him.

"So we're really okay?"

She's not sure if the breathiness of his voice is from having run around or from the kiss—probably both, but she likes to think it's from the latter. "I already said we were."

"You didn't seem sure," he says, the hesitancy in his tone obvious.

"Well, I am." Tifa pulls back to sit on top of the desk behind her. "You do know avoiding me wasn't going to solve anything, right?"

He's unable to meet her eyes as he says, "I didn't know what to do."

"You could have just talked to me." Despite wanting to sound firm, her voice comes out too quiet, too unsure. "That's what friends do."

With a loud sigh, Cloud rests his forehead on her shoulder. "You're right." He stays like this for a moment, and Tifa lets him. When he raises his head, there is still a trace of indecisiveness on his face.

"Did you like my pictures?" Tifa asks, hoping to shift the mood towards something more light-hearted.

He stares at her, blinking a few times, then shakes his head. "You planned this." Tifa widens her eyes on purpose, holding in her smile. Cloud tugs the turtleneck out from her skirt. "My sweater," he says, sliding his hands along her ribcage, stopping below her bra. "The thigh highs," he adds as he then runs his hands over the exposed skin of her legs. "When you sent those pictures, all I could think about was fucking you while that's all you're wearing."

"Well…" She smiles, warm and inviting. Part of her is grateful she managed to bring them back to known territory; she prefers not to dwell on the other part.

Cloud lets out a short groan. "Not here, yeah."

"Uh-uh."

He kisses her again, harder this time and with a want she found herself missing; the way her heartbeat escalates at the contact scares her, but Tifa focuses on the heat of his skin and the bite of his kiss. The ringtone echoing in the room doesn't register at first—even as Cloud pulls back and the ringing becomes too loud, she makes a noise of protest.

"It's your phone," he says with a chuckle.

She grips his jacket to bring him back to her. "I don't care."

"Tifa—" Her name dies on his lips, buried by her kiss. "Tifa," he tries again, "you're making this very hard."

"Hm? This?" She rubs him over his jeans, eliciting a curse from him. A little amused, Tifa pulls her hand back and hops down the desk. Cloud stares at her as she fishes her cellphone out of her bag. To her surprise, the call was from Vincent; he sent her a text saying he won't be at the practice room tomorrow and he'd like her to call him back.

"You're terrible," Cloud huffs as she continues to ignore him.

"A little payback never hurt anyone." She picks up her bag and gives him a sly smile. "I'll see you back home." His grumbled goodbye trails after her as she exits the classroom.

As she walks towards the parking, Tifa tries to put aside the mess of emotions whirling in her chest, deciding now isn't the time—she doesn't want to face the way her heart jumped and twisted, or the hurt she felt as Cloud's avoidance. Instead, she calls back Vincent in hopes it will take her mind off other matters.

"Hey," he answers on the third ring.

"Hey yourself." Tifa avoids the noisy crowd of students celebrating the end of their semester. "What's up?"

She isn't surprised when he gets straight to the point. "The date for the event moved," he says, annoyance clear in his voice. "It's on February 11th now."

"Oh, that's a month less to practice."

He hums his agreement. "And I needed that month. I'm sorry, but I'll need all my practice time now."

Tifa lets out a soft laugh; she walks outs of the main building and into the darkness of the evening. "That's fine, I understand."

"Yeah, I knew you would." His matter-of-fact tone is a reminder that music is what binds them. "Have you chosen a piece yet?"

His question startles her, and she almost drops her car keys as she pulls them out of her bag. "Uh, not really."

Vincent takes it in stride as if he had expected her answer. "Okay, that's fine. You know you can text me if—"

"But I was thinking—" Tifa cuts him off but then shuts her mouth. Her pulse pounds in her throat.

"Yeah?"

She takes a deep breath. "I was thinking maybe Rêverie." At his silence, she adds, "I have it at home. I played it before, so I think this might make it easier."

"That's good," Vincent says, not giving her the time to backtrack. "As long as it's something you want to learn. Try sight-reading the right hand just to get a feel of it."

Tifa sits in her car. "I'm not sure when I'll play it, though."

"Whenever you feel like it." She hears the shuffling of papers and figures he must be in the practice room again. "Tifa, there's no rush and no deadline on this. Don't force it."

She sags against her seat, eyes closed. "You're right. Again," she says dryly. He chuckles at this. "Thanks, Vincent. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Anytime. I'll see you next year, then?"

"Yeah, of course. See you, Vincent."

He hangs up, and Tifa puts the phone in the cupholder. As she goes to start the car, her hand freezes as what she said to Vincent catches up to her; she sighs and drops her head on the steering wheel. While she doesn't feel fully ready, there is an itch in her fingers that longs for the music to flow again. Maybe tonight she could at least take out the partition—just glance at it, read the music in her head and discern the rhythm. But at the same time, this idea of preparation appears even worse than sitting at the piano and sight-reading the piece. This is a decision for later, she thinks as she pulls out of the parking and drives home—no point in dwelling on it for the moment.

Her evening goes by fast as she cleans up her apartment a little and then eats a quick supper. When Cloud texts her, it's twenty past seven. His simple _are you back yet_ makes her snort; there's no way he didn't hear the noise she was making, but she appreciates him asking rather than just knocking on her door. She types back _yes, door is unlocked_ and throws the phone on the couch. Cloud walks in five minutes later as she is sorting through her box of partitions. She took it out earlier to motivate herself, but only ended up looking through it as a distraction from her heart beating too fast at the thought of Cloud showing up.

She looks up from where she is on the piano bench, a greeting on her lips, but it fizzles out at the sight of his downhearted expression. Tifa stands up, almost toppling the box to the ground. "What happened?"

Cloud ruffles his hair, the gesture frustrated and filled with tension. He falls down on the couch and keeps his eyes on the ceiling. "I told Mom about Seph."

"Oh." At his silence, Tifa sits on the bench again, getting the impression that Cloud needs distance right now. "About him not being okay?"

"Yeah, I don't know." He exhales loudly. "He wanted me to keep it to myself, but I can't do that, not when he's—" Cloud takes a deep breath. "He's not doing better."

"Is it worse?" Tifa asks.

"I don't know about worse, but it's not better."

"Cloud." She waits for him to look at her, but his stare stays on the ceiling. "Cloud," she says again, more firmly. This time, his eyes meet hers. "If you told your mom it's because you thought it was bad enough to warrant it."

Cloud sighs, and she hates how tired he sounds. "I know. I figured she could help him, but now he's shutting her out even more. And he's mad at me, too." He rests his elbow on the arm of the couch and hides his face in his hand. It takes a couple of minutes for him to speak again; Tifa allows him the time to collect his thoughts. "I feel so—" He breathes in and out a few times. "I feel fucking useless right now. I'm not helping, I'm just fucking things up even more."

Tifa closes her hands into fists; her nails dig into her palms, but she barely registers the slight pain. "Cloud… you know that's not true."

"No, it is." The way he says the words—simple and quiet—tells her he believes them. "I didn't realize what was happening, and I didn't offer support until recently. And now I made everything worse."

"But did you?" Cloud doesn't look up at her question; it doesn't deter Tifa. "It's a little early to tell, no? I'm sure your mother will help, and hopefully it will get through to Seph. You should keep trying, Cloud."

"Yeah?" He speaks in little more than a rasp, and it hits her how deeply this is affecting him. "What if I just…keep on fucking up? What am I even supposed to _do_?" Frustration laces his words. "I'm being selfish, but this whole thing is—haunting me, Tifa. I'm scared." His voice breaks at the confession. "I'm scared of not doing enough, of not listening enough, of not—fucking being enough. I just want him to be okay. Is that too much to ask?" he whispers.

The weight of his admission settles over Tifa; it's heavy in its defeat and guilt, and her chest aches as she watches Cloud drown in his regret and anger. "No," she says, "it's not."

Cloud takes a deep breath again, but this time he stays quiet as if he's exhausted all he has to say. The silence suffocates them—and Tifa knows Cloud can't stand it any more than she can. That's what she tells herself as she grabs the partition for Rêverie and places the box on the floor. Cloud doesn't react as she moves, too lost in his own head. Tifa sets the partition on the stand, opens it on the first page, and positions her right hand over the piano; her foot finds the pedal on its own. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she marvels at how effortless this all is—at how right it feels, almost. But all she can truly think of right now is how to ease the harshness of the silence.

Her finger bears down on the first note, the clearness of it ringing out in the room. Tifa counts the beat—one, two—and then plays the second note, a softer-sounding one. In her head, the accompaniment plays of its own accord, a memory brought to life by her impulse to play. As she follows along the score—slower than the desired rhythm at first, then settling into a comfortable one—Tifa cannot absorb what she is doing or what it means. She can only play as best as she can, making mistakes along the way but ignoring them to push forward; if she stops to contemplate, this will be over, and she doesn't _want_ this to be over. She wants this to go on and on and on—she wants this to _help_.

She gets to what she remembers being her favorite part; without realizing it, she hums along. The chords, played lightly and maybe even playfully, give way to twinkling triplets which heralds the return of the main theme. The anticipation of the end builds within her; the chords return, sounding more somber this time around. She thinks of that moment when you are lost in a daydream; when you know you have to fall back to reality, and yet the prospect has never looked more terrible—and still you wake up.

This is how she feels as her hand lifts away from the keys, the last note echoing in the room from her hold on the pedal—like she's opening her eyes from a dream; perhaps these years without the music were the dream and she finally woke up. At once, anxiety catches up with her and she pulls her hands back from the piano. Her breathing speeds up, but she keeps it under control, not wanting to alert Cloud. She twists on the bench to glance at him; though he hasn't moved, she can see the tension in his shoulders has lessened. It gives her the courage to stay at the piano.

"Do you want me to keep playing?" she asks, a little shy. "I know it's not great, but—"

"It's perfect, Tifa." She hears the weariness and the gratefulness warring in his voice. "If you don't mind…" He trails off, but she understands his meaning.

She nods, even if he can't see her. As Tifa turns back to the piano and flips the pages back to the beginning, a certain tranquility blankets her. It's almost unearthly, she thinks, like she's not really _here_ as she plays, but rather locked away in her own mind, lulled by the music she creates. In a way, it is not her who is playing—it's the ghost of a rejected past that reads the notes and controls her fingers. Once Tifa has gone through Rêverie twice, she moves on to something else, picking partitions out of memory. They're early intermediate pieces that she played a long time ago, but they are the ones she can handle at the moment; their easy nature allows her not to overthink each note. Tifa can't tell how long she plays. When she finally turns around to face Cloud, he rests his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed and arms crossed as if lost in thought, or even sleeping. But he sits up when the silence stretches; he stares at her for a beat too long before giving her a slight smile.

"Thank you," he says, so soft she barely hears it.

"Don't worry about it." She does her best to keep her voice from shaking as the significance of what she did slams into her.

She played piano—and she played it for Cloud.

"You look tired," she blurts out. "It's not late, but maybe you should sleep?"

Cloud hesitates before nodding and standing up, a blank expression in place. "You're right. Thanks for playing, Tifa."

"Oh, no—" He freezes at this. "Hm, I didn't mean you had to leave," she carries on. Once the words are out, she almost regrets them, but it's too late to take them back.

The way his shoulders sag confirms she made the right choice. "Okay, thank you. Are you staying up?"

Tifa nods, attempting to hold his stare even if all she wants is to hide from it. Inside her chest, her heart threatens to burst.

"Alright," he says with another small smile, "good night."

"Good night," she whispers back as he walks for the back of the apartment and towards the bedroom.

She waits until he's done with his routine and the door to the bedroom has shut before letting the tears fall. They're few and silent, but each one expels a darkness she carried for too long. Tifa doesn't wipe them away; they remind her of what she accomplished tonight. At some point, she realizes they dried off, and only then can she breathe freely again. It's strange at first, like she hadn't know something had spread in her lungs, making a home that festered and seeped poison. Tifa turns back to the piano and locks the practice pedal; there is something in her that can't be sated right now, an energy that prevents her from doing anything else but play. It's clumsy as she starts Rêverie again and adds the left hand, but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters, she finds as she plays until her fingers dance with more ease over the keys—until the notes sound right.

Nothing else matters until Tifa pauses to check the time and discovers it's past ten. Only then does she become aware that the ache in her chest didn't dissipate, and she hides her face in her hands as if she could hide from the truth. Even if she tried to convince herself all she wanted was for her friend to feel better, she'd know she'd be lying. Ever since she met Cloud as he moved in months ago, she's been aware that music is the way he copes. It would have been much easier for her to get up and play music from her computer. It would have been the way she would have comforted any of her friends in this situation. But it hadn't felt right to do so—it hadn't felt honest. If she had denied the impulse, she would have lied to herself—and to him, in a way.

"Tifa?"

She jumps at Cloud's voice and takes a moment to steady herself before twisting on the bench, surprised she didn't notice him before. He leans against the couch, his stance so much more relaxed compared to earlier, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; his hair is its usual mess, and he rubs the sleepiness away from his eyes. Tifa gulps as the reality of her feelings shapes itself in her mind—there is no more closing her eyes, she thinks.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," she says, her voice cracking on the last word. She clears her throat.

"You didn't. I mean, the piano didn't."

"But you heard it?"

He shrugs. "Once I woke up, yeah. It was faint, though, so don't worry."

She can't find her words, so she keeps silent, only nodding to tell him she heard.

"You wanna come sleep?" he asks.

With another nod, Tifa gets to her feet, pushing the bench under the piano and moving the box of partitions out of the way and unto the coffee table. As she brushes her teeth, she tries not to overthink or to let her emotions overwhelm her, but her efforts shatter once she walks into the bedroom and sees Cloud sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes on his phone.

"Hey," she says as she comes closer, "that's enough for tonight."

He doesn't protest when she takes the phone from his hand and places it on the nightstand. When she pads back in front of him, Cloud tilts his head back to look at her face.

"Are you okay?"

The way he asks is curious, with little worry. And Tifa knows then that Cloud didn't understand the implication of her playing the piano. As far as he knows, she's been playing for a while now, at least ever since that time he came to check up on her. She can't blame him—she's the one who kept him in the dark despite his constant presence and thoughtfulness when she had her panic attacks. But the knowledge that Cloud can't comprehend this soothes her for now; it's already enough to absorb the realization that she likes him a little too much on her own. She doesn't need his reaction adding to it.

Maybe it's the budding peace she makes with her feelings and with their strength that makes her smile—but really, she doesn't care enough to dig deeper. For tonight, she's had her fill. "I'm fine," she says. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, a little." Cloud reaches out and tugs on the turtleneck she's still wearing. "You should keep it. Looks better on you."

Tifa holds her breath for a second—then leans down to kiss him. He makes a sound of surprise but recovers, taking the insistence of her touches in stride. Her hands frame his face as she deepens her kiss, only pulling back to unzip her skirt and slide her underwear off. Cloud groans as she crawls on the bed; he turns to stare at her wearing his sweater and her thigh highs, and Tifa bites her lip in delight as he runs a hand over his face.

"Isn't that what you wanted earlier?" she asks with a teasing lilt to her voice.

He sends her a half-hearted glare. "You know the answer to that."

"Well..." She raises her eyebrow in a silent challenge.

Cloud takes off his shirt and climbs on the bed until he leans over her; his hand slides under the turtleneck, pushing the hem up. The corner of his lips lift. "What do you want?"

His question is purely sexual, and Tifa knows it. Still, in the wake of her realization tonight, it feels too charged for her to answer, so she says, "What you want," only to find that it's closer to the truth than she would like.

But he doesn't seem to be aware of this; Cloud simply kisses her, full of need and a little unrestrained. The sliver of wildness fits Tifa just fine as her longing gets lost in it. He shoves the sweater all the way up over her breasts, giving her a playful smile when he sees she's not wearing a bra.

Tifa rolls her eyes. "I don't know one girl who wears her bra in the house."

"You don't hear me complaining," he says with a short laugh. Cloud bends forward to drop kisses over her chest, licking and nipping; his hands glide along her sides, up and down, and then over her thighs. His lips find hers again, and Tifa sighs in his mouth.

It becomes almost surreal to her at once—the way his hands are almost rough as he turns her around so she lies on her stomach; the slide of his skin on hers as he leans to cover her back in gentle bites and wet kisses; the overload of sensations as he sinks into her, his hands on her hips gripping her tightly. Tifa moans as he begins to thrust into her—there is no teasing, no playfulness, not anymore. She rests her forehead on the bed and grips the covers, glad she doesn't have to look at him right now; she knows there would be no masking what she feels.

"Fuck, Tifa," he breathes out, running a hand over her back and then to her midriff. He pulls her up against his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Tifa's head rests on his shoulder, and she closes her eyes; her breathing turns erratic and her body tenses. It feels like her heart is about to explode, or maybe shatter—she can't really say. Her hand seeks his, gripping it so tight her nails dig into his skin. Cloud's lips find her neck as he frees his hand only to grab hers and guide them down along her belly. She whimpers as their joined hands brush against her, softly at first but then firmly.

"Look at me," Cloud whispers in her ear, his uneven breaths warming her skin.

Tifa shakes her head and keeps her eyes closed. Her free hand finds his in a desperate attempt to hold unto something, and he intertwines their fingers, folding their arms across her chest. As the tautness of her body builds faster and harder, Tifa whines and turns her head to hide her face in his neck. His soft, repeated swears mix with her breathy sighs of his name. Tifa cries out as she comes, the grip she has on his hand tightening to the point of pain. Cloud rasps more curses in her ear as he comes, too, and then she can only hear their pants resonating in the dark room. Eyes still closed, Tifa doesn't move away and doesn't let go of his hand. He releases the hold he has on hers where they're still joined; she senses the caress of his touch over her stomach, then up along her chest until he reaches her head where he tangles his fingers in the mess of her hair.

"Tifa," he says gently, "look at me."

The pressure he has on her head isn't forcing her to move, but she does anyway, aware she can't hide from him forever. Still, she takes her time, loosening her grip on his hand and breaking away from him. She doesn't go far, but the lack of contact grounds her; only then is she ready to glance at him. Cloud says nothing at first and when he opens his mouth, Tifa understands she doesn't want to hear what's coming. She kisses him before he can speak, and if Cloud minds, he keeps silent about it. The feeling of his skin on hers she was dreading seconds ago now fills her with more want.

It's not enough, she thinks as they trade kisses and touches and sighs into the night.

She doesn't know if it will ever be enough.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turtleneck, thigh highs...what's next, I wonder.


	9. Waltz No.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode of Dork 1 and Dork 2 dancing around their feelings is brought to you by our new official sponsor, Marle_Nadia, and our regular one, Karmi. Everyone say thank you.
> 
> (No, we do not talk about the increased chapter count.)
> 
> —  
> Waltz No.2 - Shostakovich / F. Noack

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **9:** Waltz No.2

—

Tifa stares at her coffee brewer with an absent mind, not having realized it has stopped dripping. It's only at the sound of her toasts being ready that she blinks, coming out of her daydream. She shakes off the stray thoughts clinging to her and finishes getting her breakfast ready. Cloud is still sleeping, which isn't surprising considering how early it is—Tifa rarely gets up at seven on a Saturday, but she woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Plate in hand, she walks to her couch and sits cross-legged; the low volume of the TV provides a background noise she hopes will drown out her thoughts.

It doesn't work, of course—the piano is in her periphery and all she really sees. It beckons her to come closer, but Tifa stays where she is, eyes on the TV and eating her breakfast. She finds out quickly she isn't that hungry and puts the plate down on the table. Half an hour later, noise from the back of the apartment lets her know Cloud must be getting up; Tifa closes her eyes, her heartbeat accelerating at the idea of talking to him. It's not that she doesn't want to—if she had the courage to be honest with him, she would ask if things have changed for him, too. But the potential reactions to that conversation scare her, even more so soon after having realized her feelings have evolved beyond friendship. It's better to wait a little, she thinks as Cloud walks into the living room and gives her a lazy smile as a greeting—she's not ready to lose what they already have.

"I made coffee," she says, turning back to the TV.

Cloud's footsteps stop behind the couch like he hesitated, but then he goes into the kitchen. When he sits down next to her with a plate and a mug of his own, Tifa does her best to appear casual despite his nearness making her nervous.

"I have to work at ten," he says before taking a gulp of coffee. "Is it okay if I hang out here until then?"

Tifa nods. "Yeah, that's fine."

To her surprise, Cloud places down his plate next to hers and twists to face her. When he reaches out to cradle her cheek, turning her face so she has to look at him, Tifa almost breaks away; instead, she stares at a point beyond his shoulder.

"Hey, I know something's wrong." There's a firmness to his voice that tells her he won't let this go. "You haven't really looked at me since last night."

Though she knows it is the easy way out, Tifa still says, "Nothing's wrong."

"Is it because of the piano?"

The sudden tautness of her body gives her away, but Cloud says nothing, only waits for her to confirm the unspoken.

"Yes," she whispers. There is no point in lying about it.

Cloud pulls his hand back to his side. "I thought so, but I didn't want to push." He glances away for a second before focusing on her again. "I'm sure it must have been difficult to play considering…"

He trails off, a sliver of frustration in his eyes, and Tifa realizes it stems from her never sharing the reasons she stopped playing. The thought that he wants to understand is both warming and terrifying—it implies too many things at once. Zack's words about Cloud caring for her sound in her mind but are then replaced by Cloud reinforcing the notion of them being friends. Tifa knows one does not negate the other, and now they amalgamate into something indivisible—she can't see either possibility on its own anymore.

If she tells Cloud about the piano, it opens the door for her to speak of her feelings, of where to go from here. Though Tifa doesn't feel ready for that, part of her still wants to take the chance—and so she decides to test the waters.

"I played until I was seventeen," she says, her voice holding a cautious note. "My mother taught me."

At her admission, Cloud's eyes lose that frustrated haze; he nods, encouraging her to continue.

"She died, and I…stopped playing. As she—" Tifa takes a deep breath. "She was listening to me play as she passed." He stays silent, and she is glad for it, not sure she'd be able to continue if he interrupted. Her hands twist in her lap; once she notices her fidgeting, she forces herself to stop. "It was the piece that played in the car that one time." The meekness of her voice betrays her rising anxiety. "That's why I get like this with music sometimes."

Cloud's stare is heavy on her, but she avoids it. Her confession hangs between them, and he only speaks once it becomes obvious she's done.

"Last night, when you played, I didn't realize it," he says. "But when I woke up and you were still playing, I don't know it clicked into place. How important it was to you, I mean." Cloud bends forward so she has no choice but to look at him; as her eyes meet his, Tifa's throat closes up. "Tifa, I know you played to make me feel better, and I'm so grateful you did. But that's not what matters." At her involuntary flinch, he sighs. "I'm sorry, I must be saying this all wrong."

"Maybe a little," Tifa says, a touch of resentment shining through.

He shifts on the couch so he sits closer and leans into her space a little like he's afraid she'll escape. "I'm just trying to say… After seeing how difficult it was for you, I love that you _could_ play, you know? I love that you found that again."

Tifa inhales sharply; it feels as if the world stopped and everything froze except the crazed rhythm of her pulse.

Her lack of answer doesn't deter Cloud. "That's what I mean when I said it didn't matter. Not that it really doesn't, but—" He cuts himself off with an irritated huff. "I'm not good at this, but all I want to say is what really counts is that you _played_. No matter the reason. You did it, Tifa," he adds softly.

The last words break her control, and tears fall before she even absorbs what he said. That he dismissed why she played hurts a little, but she barely feels it, too overwhelmed as the full realization of last night slams into her. She had focused on the reason for her playing because it had been easier than to think back on her mother, weak but smiling; on the terror at the notion of playing at the funeral; on the last time she played a piece, that time she recorded herself for her mother without knowing it would be the final one. Tifa covers her face with her hands as her tears escalate into sobs. There's both an immense sadness and a frightful deliverance taking over her, and she can't do anything but be swept along.

"Tifa…" Cloud's hands are gentle as he tugs on her arms so she can't hide her face anymore. She doesn't resist despite him not using any serious strength. "You're always the one helping and listening to me. Let me be there for you this time." He pulls her into his chest, giving her the time to break away if she wanted, and tucks her head in the crook of his shoulder.

Tifa doesn't know how long he holds her—long enough for her loud sobs to ease into short, muted ones and then into silent tears. Still, he keeps her against him, one hand running a careful, lazy trail through her hair. It's soothing, and Tifa concentrates on the sensation to regain control of her breathing. Her heart clenches as it becomes obvious Cloud will give her all the time she needs; it's the tinge of pain at the thought that finally makes her pull away, though she can't find the will to go far. Tifa wipes the remains of her tears away with the back of her hands. She goes to apologize for crying but holds the words down. There's nothing to apologize for, really, and she knows Cloud wouldn't want her to.

"Thank you," she says instead.

A tiny frown betrays his worry. "Are you feeling a little better?"

She nods and tries to give him a smile, but can't manage it. "Yes."

"Okay, that's good." The unmasked kindness seeping from his voice makes her breath hitch. "You should finish eating," he says, gesturing at her discarded plate.

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay. Anything you want to do?"

The question makes her think of his earlier comment about him working at ten. "I'll be fine, Cloud. You should go get ready for your day."

There's no ignoring the slight puzzlement etched in his features. "I'm literally next door, it's not a big deal. What do you want to do?" he asks again, this time more insistent.

Tifa looks down at her lap as she admits, "I want to practice. And play some more."

His answer is immediate—and so simple, yet it kindles a spark within her. "Can I listen?"

"Yeah, if you want," she says.

He gives her a you-know-I-do look in reply, and her smile, though slight, comes naturally this time. Tifa riffles through the box of partitions she had left on the table last night. Cloud peeks over her shoulder; she can sense the warmth of his body despite them not touching.

"Oh, I didn't know there was a piano version of that piece." He reaches around her to pick up a partition. "Always liked it."

Tifa glances at the title—Shostakovich's Waltz No.2 arranged by F. Noack—before continuing to look. "Yeah, it's a nice one, too."

Cloud puts the booklet down on the table. His quiet presence behind her brings back her nervousness, though it washes over her in a soft wave, nowhere as forceful as earlier. Tifa stops searching through the partitions and turns to him; he is close enough that she has to tilt back her head a bit. The movement catches Cloud's attention, and he twists to look at her.

Before he can speak, Tifa says, "I want to ask for something." She bites her lip as she notes how his focus shifts to her as if he is worried again even though his features stay relaxed.

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Can you kiss me?" In the back of her mind, Tifa thinks of how strange it is for her to sound so steady when it's the opposite of how she feels. Cloud blinks, taken aback, and then lets out a chuckle. For some reason, she feels compelled to add, "I just want a kiss."

Cloud's soft laughter dies, then, and in the ensuing pause, she is afraid she said something wrong. But he cups the back of her head, forcing it back a little more, and leans in to kiss her. A sigh of surprise escapes her at the fervor of his mouth on her; she yields to his kiss, a certain calm settling over her. When he pulls back, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, Tifa follows him. Cloud laughs again, and she swallows down the sound.

"I thought you just wanted a kiss," he whispers.

"I do." She lays a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and breaks away from him. The air is cold around her suddenly, but she choses to ignore it—as well as Cloud's curious stare. "I'll play for a while. Don't complain when I make mistakes," she says with a mock-glare. Tifa holds her breath as she waits to see if Cloud will let the topic of the kiss go.

Thankfully, he does. "I would never." An amused smile punctuates his statement.

"Good."

Tifa stands with random partitions in her hands; she drops them on the piano and sits at the bench, glad to be facing away from Cloud for a moment. As she opens the first booklet and sees it's Shostakovich's Waltz No.2, her heart constricts minutely.

She won't talk to him about her feelings for now, she thinks as she starts sight-reading the right-hand section. Waiting a little to see how to handle things from there seems reasonable. She pretends not to notice the flare-up of apprehension at the thought of losing what they have.

For now, it will have to be enough.

—

"Do you think this is too much?"

Tifa doesn't even glance in Aerith's direction. "Yes." The answering huff makes her smile.

"You could at least _pretend_ ," Aerith says as she walks up to Tifa. She brings the bustier top she had been looking at with her so there is no avoiding it. "Is this too much?"

With a sigh, Tifa turns to assess the top. It's not as bad as half the things Aerith chose so far—cropped and made of a darkened royal blue velvet, with wide straps for the shoulder. "It's not terrible," Tifa concedes, "but I think another color would suit you better."

"It's for _you_ , silly."

"Oh."

Aerith waves the top around; it almost slips off the hanger. "So? You'd look hot."

"Do I need to, though?"

"Yes," Aerith says with too much patience for Tifa's taste. It means she's ready to argue until her point is proven. "Everyone has to look hot on New Year's Eve."

Despite herself, Tifa chuckles and takes the hanger. "Fine. I'll try it on."

Aerith continues wandering around the store as Tifa tries on the top. To her surprise, she likes it more than she had anticipated; the only downside is how exposed she feels at the amount of skin showing. Footsteps sound near the cabin, followed by a knock.

"Show me, I know it looks great."

Tifa shakes her head at Aerith's confidence. Her friend snickers as Tifa opens the door to the cabin.

"I knew it. You look amazing."

"It fits well," Tifa admits grudgingly.

" _Well_ is an understatement." Aerith waves her hand around. "You're buying it."

Tifa goes to argue but reins the urge in; she hadn't expected to buy clothes for herself today. When Aerith said she wanted to go shopping for Zack's New Year party, Tifa had understood the shopping would be for her friend, not for her. Still, she can't deny she likes the top.

"Fine." She adds a lengthy sigh for drama's sake. "I'll get it. But I'm wearing a jacket."

"Deal," Aerith says without hesitating.

Once Tifa has changed back into her clothes, they walk around the store one more time, and Aerith focuses on finding something for herself now that she accomplished her initial mission.

"How is your Dad doing?"

Aerith's question startles Tifa, who almost drops the pack of stockings she was checking out. "Okay, I guess. A little sad I didn't go home for Christmas, but he couldn't pay for the ticket and neither could I."

"Ah, yes." Aerith nods her head several times. "Because you bought a piano _._ Did you explain that part?"

"No," Tifa says, keeping her eyes down as she browses through the rack. "I don't want to give him false hopes."

"But you said you started playing again. I'm sure he'd love to know."

With a sigh, Tifa moves on to the next rack. "Yeah, he would. But it's so new, and I don't want to—" She trails off as she spots tights that seem interesting but then carries on. "I don't want him to be disappointed if I end up, you know, not continuing."

Aerith makes a soft noise of reprimand. "Tifa, you know he wouldn't be disappointed because of that."

"Alright, maybe not _disappointed_. You still get my point." Tifa picks up the tights she had spotted—the tightly knit fishnet fabric is dotted with clear rhinestones. But it's the image of the model wearing them on the box that grabs her attention. These really are thigh highs with an attached garter so they can stay up without trouble.

Tifa's sudden silence as she stares at the box alerts Aerith, and she comes over to her side.

"Ooooh," she says as she spies what Tifa was looking at. " _Yes_."

It's hard for Tifa to bite back her smile. "Yes, what?"

"Just yes. Yes, they're hot. Yes, you're getting them."

Tifa laughs as she searches for her size. As she finds a pair, excitement builds within her—there is no doubt these will rile up Cloud, and she can't pretend she doesn't enjoy that a little.

"You'll look so hot, nobody will be able to resist you," Aerith comments as they finish their round of the store.

"Is that the goal here?" Tifa feels her cheeks heat a little when it becomes obvious the silent-but-amused cashier overheard her friend.

"No, but it's a bonus."

It is, Tifa thinks—if she doesn't get a reaction out of Cloud with this, she won't deny she'll be a little disappointed, but she also just really likes what she bought today. She thanks the cashier, and they walk out of the store. The streets are packed with shoppers aiming to get the best deals, making getting back to the car more difficult than it should be. Once they reach it and drive off in the downtown traffic, Aerith fiddles with her phone, uncharacteristically silent.

"You okay?"

Her head snaps up. "Yes, I'm just hoping everything goes well tomorrow."

"At Zack's party?" Tifa frowns. "Why wouldn't it?"

"Yuffie and Reno are coming." Aerith puts the phone away in her handbag. "And he's still pissed about his car." Tifa's attempt at hiding her smirk doesn't fool Aerith. "Come on, _glitter_ in the car? You'd be pissed, too."

Tifa chuckles. "Yeah, I would be. That's why I suggested it."

" _You_ did? Tifa!" The shock in Aerith's voice is clear, but then a loud laugh overtakes her. "That's—I can't believe you're the one who thought of that."

"Why not?" Tifa pulls to a stop in front of the apartment complex Aerith lives in. "I have good ideas sometimes."

Aerith's words are punctuated with laughter as she says, "That's not what I meant."

"Uh-uh."

"Now I know not to get on your bad side." With a parting grin, Aerith opens the door and steps out. "Is nine still good for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll come pick you up."

"Perfect." Aerith wiggles her fingers in a wave and shuts the door.

The remainder of the evening passes too quickly for Tifa as she finishes her chores for the week, crashing into bed not even five minutes past ten. She spends the next day lazing around, enjoying it. It's become much natural for her to accept the urge to play the piano since that conversation with Cloud two weeks ago—it still scares her and most days it gets frustrating as her fingers stumble over the keys, but there's always a sort of satisfaction coursing through her by the end.

A little before eight, she stops practicing, liking the progress she made. Tifa takes out the top and thigh highs she bought yesterday and slips them on along with a black pleated skirt. She observes her reflection, some shyness creeping upon her—the attached garters show every time the skirt lifts as she moves. It's nothing more than a peek, and she had counted on that. For a second she hesitates, but the sparkle of the rhinestones reminds her this is the night to wear this kind of outfit. She picks a black band choker with a hanging moon that rests in the hollow of her throat; the moment she puts on her jacket, she feels whatever shyness was left evaporate. The black bomber jacket is big enough for her to swim in, and it tones down the outfit so she won't feel self-conscious about it. She slips her feet into her black combat boots and heads out to pick up Aerith.

Her friend whistles when she gets into the car; a smirk tilts up her lips, but it's her silence that makes Tifa roll her eyes. Aerith wears a pink satin dress she found yesterday; the low back is covered by her black moto jacket.

"Zack is gonna drool," Tifa says as a greeting. She pulls away from the curb and drives them towards Zack's house.

Aerith's smirk gets bigger. "Good. So—" She cuts herself off but then continues, "So will Cloud, by the way."

Tifa keeps her eyes on the road, making an effort not to let her disquiet show. "Will he?"

"Tifa." The way Aerith says her name makes her think she's being scolded. "He's always looking at your legs."

The relief and surprise at the comment are too much for Tifa, and she snorts. "He does?"

"Oh, yeah. He's not very subtle."

They chat until Zack's house comes into view; Tifa parks into the driveway as he had instructed her since Aerith and her planned on staying the night. People already fill the house, making it difficult to find their friends.

"I didn't realize Zack knew so many people," Tifa tells Aerith as they navigate the crowd hand-in-hand.

Aerith throws her a wry look over her shoulder. "Between him and his three roommates, they know the whole school."

They find Zack in what Tifa imagines is a large living room; now all the furniture has been pushed against the walls to make even more space. He moves from the people he was chatting with the second he spots his girlfriend.

Zack wraps an arm around both of their shoulders. "You two look amazing," he says with a huge grin.

"We tried." Aerith's sly smile returns. "Where is Cloud?"

It takes a lot out of Tifa not to roll her eyes at Zack's answering smirk. "Around somewhere. He hid when Reno got here ten minutes ago."

"He _hid_?" Tifa asks as she slips from under Zack's arm.

He laughs at her skepticism. "We both know it was an excuse to go chill somewhere quiet."

Tifa glances around, at once realizing how many people there are and how uncomfortable Cloud must be. "Do you know where?"

"Nope." The knowing glint in his gaze tells her otherwise. "Give him some time and he'll have drunk enough to come out of hiding."

As she goes to protest, someone tackles her into a hug from behind; Tifa yelps in surprise but smiles when she recognizes Yuffie's voice. " _Finally_."

Tifa laughs when Yuffie keeps clinging to her. "Were you that bored?"

"I'm just happy you two got here."

Aerith exchanges an amused look with Tifa—they both know Yuffie must have drank already for her to be this affectionate. "Where is my hug, uh?"

Yuffie lets go of Tifa to wrap her arms around Aerith, who almost stumbles in her heels from the strength of it.

"Stealing my girlfriend." Zack makes a disapproving noise and tugs Aerith out of Yuffie's grasp. "You have no shame."

"Fine," Yuffie whines, dragging the last syllable. "I'll just steal Tifa since she has no boyfriend." She links her arm with Tifa's and steers her away.

Though the comment wasn't meant to be hurtful, Tifa still feels a sharp sting in her chest. She hasn't found the courage to speak to Cloud about this yet. But then she reminds herself she had decided not to let it bother her tonight—tonight is supposed to be fun, so she exhales the pain before filing these thoughts away.

When Yuffie stops before Reno and some of his friends, Tifa holds in her mirth, remembering her conversation with Aerith yesterday. He turns his attention to them, and she's glad to see how relaxed he is. It recalls that time they went to the bar and the truce he made with Zack then—she hopes the same will apply here.

"Hey, Tifa," he says with a grin. "Looking good."

She glances at the LED shutter shades perched on his forehead and then down at his silk shirt gaping open to display his chest; the dark green color paired with his hair only makes her think of Christmas decorations. If she could be bothered, she'd tell him he looks ridiculous. "You too," she lies instead. "I like the color."

But her dry tone flies over Reno's head. "Thank, I thought it'd be nice with my hair. Complementary colors." He winks.

Tifa pinches her lips together to hold in the laughter threatening to burst out. When she realizes he expects a reply, she manages to say, "Yes, of course."

She stays for a few minutes for Yuffie's sake, but Reno and his friends' obnoxious shouts get too much to handle, so she slips away after telling Yuffie she's getting something to drink. The crowd has only gotten thicker since she and Aerith arrived, making it hard for her to find anyone. The house Zack shares with his roommates is big enough for Tifa to wander awhile. As she walks by one room, the door opens, startling Tifa; she turns to see Cloud standing in the doorway to what seems to be a bedroom. He blinks in surprise at seeing her, and she notices how little tension his shoulders carry. Zack was right in saying Cloud would appear after having drank.

"So this is where you were hiding?" Tifa asks with a teasing smile.

Cloud says nothing as his eyes go down her body to find her legs. She lifts an arm to run her hand through her hair. The movement causes the skirt to rise a little, just enough to expose the attached garters, and Tifa has to hold in the urge to laugh; any doubts she had about her outfit vanish when he curses. He pulls her into the room and shuts the door, pushing her against it and kissing her before she can say anything. His hands slide over her thighs and up under her skirt, but Tifa slaps them away.

"You're so impatient," she whispers against his mouth.

Cloud pulls back to send her a wry look; his hands return to his side. "I'm starting to think you enjoy torturing me."

She hums. "You wouldn't be wrong."

To her shock, his expression turns sulky. "Fine," he sighs.

"Are you pouting?" Laughter finally escapes her.

He schools his features at once. "No."

The drink must have lowered his inhibitions, Tifa thinks—and she can't say she doesn't like this side of him.

"Okay," she says, playing along. "Wanna help me find the others?"

Cloud huffs but then nods. "Sure. But I'm getting another drink first."

They make a detour for the kitchen, and he grabs two beers, handing her one as a question. Tifa takes it with a smile, and they walk around until Tifa spots LED lights on top of someone's head. Pink satin flashes next to them, letting her know Aerith is also there.

"Found Reno," she says.

Tifa leads them that way; Zack lets out a pleased shout when they appear next to him.

"You got him to join the living! Great job." He presents his hand for a high-five, and Tifa complies with a slight smile.

"Fuck you." Cloud says it with such a straight face that she would almost think he means it.

Reno raises his bottle as if to salute the sentiment. Cloud takes a sip of his beer, and Tifa frowns at the wicked glint in his eyes.

"Did you guys see the walking Christmas tree?" he asks while staring at Reno.

Tifa chokes on the beer she'd been drinking—she can't deny that with the green of the shirt mixed with his red hair and the LED shades, Reno fits the part. She bites her lip when Reno squints in confusion and then turns around.

"What tree?"

Across her, Zack howls with laughter, Aerith joining in; tears leak out of the corner of his eyes as he tries to calm down. Still, Reno looks perplexed, but he just rolls his eyes as if giving up on understanding. Next to him, Yuffie rubs her forehead, her exasperation palpable.

"One night. I asked for _one_ fucking night of peace."

Cloud shrugs, unapologetic, and takes a bigger swing of his drink.

"Yes, yes, of course," Zack says, trying to sound serious but failing miserably.

Aerith's shoulders shake as she does her best to contain her giggling, and Tifa gives in, allowing herself a smile.

"You guys are fucking weird." Reno shakes his head, and his enduring obliviousness only sets Zack off again.

Tifa can't help her next comment as she notices the dusting of glitter stuck to his chest. "Reno, you know your chest is sparkling, right?"

He blinks as if he can't comprehend her meaning, but then looks down at himself. "Fucking _hell_! It's been two weeks and I still have that shit everywhere!" He glowers at Zack, who can barely hide his snicker. "Fuck you, Fair. I'm outta here." He turns on his heels, giving them the finger over his shoulder as he walks off.

"Fuck, he is so _dumb_ sometimes," Yuffie says. "I don't know how he does it." She points at herself, the movement clumsy; her drinks sloshes over the edge of the cup and unto the floor. "I _told_ him not to wear that shirt. And! And he had to wear it like _that_."

"What about the shades?" Cloud asks, nodding along. "Those are pretty bad, too."

"Right! He looks like a fucking tool!"

Zack elbows Aerith. "Twenty bucks they break up?"

She shares a knowing glance with Tifa—they're both aware that won't happen. "You're on."

Yuffie doesn't hear them, too caught up in her tirade. Her arm swings in a wide arc as if she is showcasing something; Tifa steps back to avoid being splashed. "If you guys had _seen_ the other options. He could have at _least_ buttoned the fucking shirt. I dropped so many hints about him looking ridiculous, and still!" She sighs. "Lucky for him that he's a great fuck."

Zack's mirth fades away at her words, and he grumbles as Aerith raises her hand palm first. "A bet's a bet," she says with a saccharine smile.

"You knew I was gonna lose." Zack leans forward to whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle and bat at his chest.

"Get a room," Yuffie says with a grimace.

Tifa glances at Cloud as the others continue talking; she notes his empty bottle with a raised eyebrow.

"Wanna go get another one?" She prays he says yes so they can get away from the bickering.

Cloud's expression betrays his relief. "Please."

As the night advances, Tifa finds herself having more fun than she had expected she would; the few drinks she has make any residual tension from the week disappear. Cloud sticks to her side and Zack's, but after a while, it becomes obvious he's having a good time—a constant smile tilts up his lips, and laughter escapes him easily. She has a feeling his mood is proportional to the amount of drinks he has.

Tifa takes a break from dancing and leans against a wall at the edge of the room. As she sips her drink, she observes Cloud as he chats with Zack further away; the crowd obscures them from time to time, but her eyes find him still. Maybe it's because Cloud tends to dress casually that she feels the impulse to drink in his appearance right now. The thin knit turtleneck—which hugs his arms a little too well if she's to be honest—paired with the jeans rolled at hem over his boots is a great look on him, and she decides she'll bring it up at some point. The all-black attire is a harsh contrast to the lightness of his skin and hair, but it suits him, in a way.

A guy stops in front of her, filling in the surrounding space too much for her taste. She recognizes him from school, though she knows they've never interacted.

"Can I help you?"

The coldness of her voice only makes him smile. "Tifa, right?"

She keeps quiet; her eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Don't be so wary," he says with a chuckle. "We were in Micro-sociology together. You raised your hand a lot."

"Oh. Right." Tifa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling a little stupid for her initial reaction. "Sorry, I don't remember that."

"I always sat in the back."

She nods. "That explains it. What's your name?"

He smiles again, and she gets a hunch he takes her question as a victory; her mistrusts rears back its head. "I'm Rufus."

"Okay." She stares at him over the rim of her cup. "Can I help you, Rufus?"

"You never know."

It takes a lot out of her not to roll her eyes. Movement to her right has her look up, and the slight tautness of her body goes away as Cloud sidles up to her side. He wraps an arm around her neck, forcing her to lean into him a bit.

"Found you," he says, grinning.

"I've been here this whole time."

Tifa waits for him to remove his arm, but he doesn't, instead finishing his beer and staring at Rufus. His hold tightens minutely.

"I'm stealing her away," he tells Rufus with a sardonic smile.

"Yes, I can see that," Rufus replies, wryness dripping from his voice.

Before Tifa can say anything, Cloud grabs her hand and steers her away, closer to their friends and deeper into the crowd. Reno joined them again, now wearing the shades as he dances with Yuffie and Aerith. Zack is nowhere to be seen.

Cloud releases her hand and shows his empty bottle. "You want something?"

She doesn't bother reminding him she has a drink in her hand, having the sneaking suspicion that he's too far on his way to being drunk to care. "I'm good."

"I'll be back." He wanders off, almost bumping into someone.

She watches him until he disappears into the kitchen, but the sudden shift in the atmosphere grabs her attention; it's impossible to ignore the surging excitement. It's almost midnight, she realizes. From the corner of her eyes, she sees Zack reappearing and wrapping Aerith in a hug to lead her away from Reno. People all around start chanting the countdown, and Tifa abruptly feels awkward standing where she is—a little lonely and a little out of place. People scream as they get to zero and resounding shouts of _Happy New Year_ fill the air.

As Tifa steps toward her friends, someone twists her around; she doesn't have time to react before Cloud again wraps his arm around her neck to bring her close, cups her face in his free hand, and kisses her. Tifa gasps out of both shock and pleasure at his sudden action, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Her grip on her drink slackens and it falls to the floor. Her hands grip his shoulders, sliding up to his neck, and she gives in to his warmth despite the public setting—it doesn't matter right now, she thinks. Cloud doesn't let her go even as he pulls back from the kiss.

"Happy New Year." The grin lighting his features is almost more of a surprise than the kiss itself.

"Happy New Year," she says softly.

Sensing a gaze on her, Tifa peeks over Cloud's shoulder, finding Aerith staring at them with wide eyes. As she realizes Tifa caught her, she gesticulates as if to say _get your ass over here_. With a slight wince, Tifa pushes against Cloud's chest so he will release his hold.

"I need to talk to someone." She doesn't wait for his answer before walking over to Aerith, who grabs her hand and leads them to a quiet corner of the house.

"This wasn't the first time you two kissed," Aerith says, not wasting any time. There is no accusation in her voice, only a heavy dose of surprise.

Tifa pinches her lips together and avoids her friend's gaze. "No."

"Why didn't you tell me?" A slight note of hurt shines through, but Aerith chases it away. "Why would you hide that—oh." She shakes her head. "You're not dating?"

"No," Tifa says again. "We're just sleeping together."

"Tifa, _you_ told me you weren't looking for anything. This was—something."

"Aerith, I'm sorry I didn't say anything, but—"

"I don't care about that! Well, maybe a little." She waves her around to dismiss the statement. "I'm worried about _you_."

Tifa hates that her pulse beats faster and her mouth dries up. She knows her friend can be perceptive, but this isn't 'something' she wants to share yet—she doesn't want it discovered when she's only come to understand it herself so recently.

"Look, it's fine—"

"It's _not_." Aerith grabs her hand and squeezes. "Tifa, it's obvious you're in love with him. I saw the way you were looking at him."

Tifa's stomach twists; the noise surrounding them goes up in volume until it overloads her senses, building her irritation and anxiety. She snatches her hand out of Aerith's grip. Her friend always had the tendency to be a little insensitive at times—Tifa has seen it happen through the years, and while she's aware it's not meant in a malicious way, it doesn't make the sting go away. But beyond that, Aerith saying it's obvious is what hurts—if it's so clear, then she wonders if Cloud pretends not to see it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Aerith says immediately as she takes in Tifa's silent reaction. "I just don't want you to get hurt!"

"I know." Tifa shoves her hands in her jacket's pockets and glances to the side. "It's fine."

The unsaid _for now_ hangs between them, but Aerith swallows back whatever else she wanted to say and nods.

"We're gonna go back, and nothing has changed, okay?" Tifa waits for Aerith to agree. "Tomorrow we can have a proper talk."

"I'll hold you to that," Aerith says, sighing.

Tifa pretends she didn't hear that and walks back into the crowd. When they rejoin their friends, she seeks Cloud, unsure how to be around him—but he saves her the trouble of overthinking when he acts like his usual, albeit drunken self. Tifa avoids Aerith's worried look and decides there's nothing to do but enjoy the rest of the night as best as she can.

And she does—the night goes on, and before she knows it, the house is emptying. Sprawled in a couch, she sweeps the room she's in with a glance; it's a complete mess, and she groans at the notion of cleaning up. One of Zack's roommates snores on the other couch and another passed out on the floor—she has no clue where the third one is, but she figures he won't be much more help. Zack comes back into the room, and though she can see the tiredness in his eyes, he still smiles.

"Get up, we have work to do."

"Ugh, do we have to do this now?"

"You think later we'll all be in better shape to clean this fucking mess?" Zack grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet, almost stepping on his roommate. "Come on. I promise we won't deep clean the house tonight."

"If I had known you are a clean freak, I wouldn't have agreed to stay over," she grumbles with no real heat.

Zack chuckles and leads her into the kitchen where they find Cloud sitting at the table, head in his hand. Standing close is Aerith with her hands on her hips.

"You think a headache is getting you out of this?" Her scolding tone makes Tifa snort. "We all have a headache right now. Get off your ass."

"I never agreed to this," Cloud says, his tone bordering on whiny.

"You're being _such_ a child." Aerith grabs a garbage bag from the box Zack must have taken out. She shoves it at his chest. "You're not getting out of this."

Though it's clear he wants to protest, Cloud gets to his feet. " _Fine_."

They split up on Zack's instructions. Even if it pains him, he tells them to only pick up the worst of it; Tifa appreciates that he chooses the worse room for himself. She gets into the swing of cleaning up rather quickly—as appealing as slacking off sounds, she wants to be done as soon as possible.

Once she is, she throws out the bag she filled up; as she passes by the room Cloud was assigned to clean up, she stops dead in her tracks. Cloud lies on the couch, an arm and a leg dangling from the side, seemingly passed out. Tifa narrows her eyes out of suspicion but says nothing when she notices he cleaned most of the mess.

"Is he for real?"

Aerith's irritated voice behind her makes her jump; Tifa turns to see her friend glaring at Cloud, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Seems so."

"At least he helped some," Aerith says and then sighs. "Come on, I'll show you the room Zack prepared for you."

With one last glance at Cloud, Tifa follows Aerith up the stairs and into a small but cozy room with a double bed and a dresser. Tifa sits on the bed, the exhaustion of the night catching up to her. "It's nice."

Aerith shrugs. "One of his roommates has a sister who stays over often, so they made her a room from the office, I think."

"Thoughtful. Thank him for me, would you?" Tifa removes her jacket and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands. She unzips her boots and takes them off. "Good night, Aerith."

"Night. And Tifa?" Aerith hesitates in the doorway. "I'm sorry about how I said things earlier. I know it hurt you."

"Don't worry about it," Tifa says with a smile. "I know it came from a good place."

Aerith shuts the door behind her and her footsteps fade away. Tifa can hear her chat with Zack for a moment before another door closes. She leans back on her hands, tired but not sleepy—she's still a little too wired from the night. Still, it feels nice not to have music blasting and people shouting.

Faint noise coming from downstairs alerts her for a moment before she remembers the roommates and Cloud are still there. When the noise transforms into light footsteps that near her door, Tifa rolls her eyes. Of course it'd be Cloud. She crosses her legs and waits for him to open the door. To his credit, he knocks first, then pokes his head in to check once she doesn't answer.

"I knew you were faking," Tifa says, her tone dry. "Try to be less obvious next time."

Cloud shuts the door softly behind him. There's still a relaxed energy about him that he usually doesn't carry, and she guesses he must still be a little inebriated. "I didn't feel like cleaning up."

"Neither did I." She stands up, the tiredness she'd been feeling minutes before evaporating at the heated glint in his eyes. He hums as if he agrees, but she can tell he's distracted as his eyes wander down. They stand still for a moment, and Tifa can't help but tease him. "Did you need something or…?"

"Come here," he murmurs. "I've been patient enough."

She stays where she is. "I don't know about that."

"Tifa." The way he says her name is both a warning and a demand.

Though she'd like to tease him more, she can't ignore the anticipation building inside her. Tifa steps up to him; he doesn't waste time, tugging her to him and kissing her. She isn't surprised at the aggressiveness of his mouth on hers or of his hands over her. He undoes the zipper of her top and lowers the straps so it falls down; Tifa flings it off before helping him remove his sweater. Her skin pressing against his makes him groan against her lips.

"That feels good," he mumbles. His hands run down her back, pulling her as close as she can be. It makes undoing his belt and pants a little more difficult, but Tifa doesn't want to lose the contact. She rubs him through his briefs as she drops kisses along his neck; he sighs but then forces her to move back a little. "Take off your skirt."

The way he stares at her as the garment falls to the floor makes her want to be bold. Maybe some of it is the alcohol she drank throughout the night, but, really, Tifa thinks it might be a need that runs too deep—a craving for more of that dazed look full of desire. She doesn't allow him the time to take in the sight of her standing in those thigh highs and flimsy underwear; she gives him a gentle push so he stumbles against the wall and drops to her knees before him.

"Fuck." His voice is loud, amplified by the quiet of the house. His fingers brush against her cheek, then up to comb her hair away from her face. Tifa lets herself enjoy the tenderness of his touch for a second before leaning forward and taking him in her mouth; his hand tightens in her hair but then relaxes. "Tifa, that's—" His words trail off into a moan when she glances up to meet his eyes. "Fuck," he says again, softer this time.

The hint of wildness she catches in his gaze makes her heart skip a beat; she finds herself wanting to see more of it. When she takes him in deep, her tongue stroking along the underside, and his hips move in an involuntarily thrust, Tifa thinks his restraint might be weakening. She pulls back to catch her breath but also out of surprise at the harsh movement.

"Sorry. Fuck, sorry," he pants. His head falls back against the wall, and he looks down at her with half-lidded eyes.

"It's okay." Tifa licks along his length, eliciting breathy sighs from him. "I just didn't expect it." She keeps her voice low, conscious of Aerith's and Zack's presence in a nearby room. "Now I do."

"I don't—oh, fuck," he hisses as she swallows around him. His hands in her hair stiffen, but he keeps careful not to tug too hard at the strands.

She hums, causing him to thrust unintentionally into her mouth again, but this time she anticipates it. Still, she looks up at him in reassurance, aware he doesn't want to hurt her. Whatever he sees in her eyes shatters his worry, and Tifa takes pleasure in his sudden lack of restraint. He doesn't hold down his voice, curses and praise and moans getting away from him as she doesn't ease up. The ways in which he loses control at times strike her as satisfying, almost exhilarating—the slight tugs on her hair, the reflexive thrusts of his hips, the deepness of his voice. It's when she pulls back a little, letting him slip along her tongue and out of her mouth, and his groan ebbs into pants that Tifa realizes how loud he was being.

"You need to keep it down," she says.

Cloud opens his eyes, meeting hers, and she knows the pleased tilt of her lips doesn't go past him. His hands move to frame her face; he tilts her head back a little, a thumb gliding along her bottom lip. "You're enjoying this."

She's been past being shy about sex with Cloud for a while now, so she says, "Uh-uh."

"Fuck, look at you." He gives her an indolent smile. "How do you want me to keep quiet."

It's a statement, not a question, and she lets out a soft laugh. "You're gonna have to find a way."

"Oh, yeah?"

Tifa notices the challenge in his eyes too late—Cloud has already dragged up to her feet. He kisses her hard as he steps out of his pants and underwear and boots. He walks them back until her legs hit the bed, then lifts her up and drops her over the covers.

"Cloud—"

His smile is wicked, his tongue peeking out between his teeth—he's crawled over to her and spread her legs before she can react. Cloud slides his hands along the exposed skin of her inner thighs; he pulls the thin fabric of her underwear aside. "You _really_ bought these to torture me."

Tifa bites her lip to keep in a moan as he drags the flat of his tongue against her. "It worked," she gasps.

"Fuck yeah, it did," he says into her skin, his voice rough.

His sharp nips and licks are almost teasing, not nearly enough, and she can tell he's aware of it. He runs his tongue over her clit and sucks; the sensation takes by surprise, but she muffles her whimper. Her grip on his hair tightens when he does it again and again, then licks her in lazy strokes. Cloud continues to build her up to the edge only to bring her down. When he raises his head and turns to place open-mouthed kisses over her thighs, Tifa can't take it anymore.

"Cloud, stop being a tease," she breathes out.

"I'm just keeping my mouth busy like you wanted."

She lifts her hips without meaning to when his breath blows across her sensitive skin. A ripping noise has her gasp. "Are you fucking serious?"

Tifa rests on her elbows to assess the damage. The fishnets tore where Cloud was gripping her leg, the fragile material probably giving way with the sudden jab of her hips. Though he tries to hold it in, she can feel his amusement radiating from him. "I just bought these!"

Cloud nods too seriously for the concern to be real. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not! They were _expensive_."

"Don't worry," he says, his laughter nuzzling her skin, "I'll make it up to you."

Tifa huffs. "You're so arrog— _ah_." The moan spills out of her when he slips two fingers inside her. "You better—fuck—buy me a new pair."

He sucks on her clit, flicking it with his tongue, and she falls back onto the bed with a cry. His fingers drive hard into her, curling to hit that spot he knows she likes. Tifa doesn't even realize how loud she's being until Cloud pulls away, and he smirks as he says, "You need to keep it down."

Tifa hides her face behind her hands as her frustration grows and wars with her desire. "I swear, I'll—"

Cloud tugs her hands away and shushes her with a kiss that doesn't alleviate her yearning. His mouth is wild on her, and she tastes herself on his tongue; his wet fingers trail over her breast. She's over caring about begging when he breaks away again.

"Cloud, _please_."

"Come over here," he murmurs as he lies on his back.

When she kneels next to him, he makes to lift her leg so she can straddle his face, but she hesitates as she realizes what he means. "Cloud, that's not—I haven't—"

"Hey," he cuts her off, smirking. "You know how to use your mouth, and I know how to use mine. We'll be fine. Now, come on."

"You're terrible sometimes." She shakes her head at him but complies after a brief pause.

"That's it." Cloud brushes his hands over her back, applying slight pressure so she bends forward. "There you go."

Tifa drinks in the gentleness of his voice; it helps to ease the flare of nervousness that took over. He pulls her hips lower, and his mouth finds her again; it makes it harder for her focus as she slips him past her lips again. She resorts to kissing and sucking along his length once her muscles tense up, and it becomes impossible to carry on as Cloud decides he's done teasing—her climax that had been building for a while crashes into her. Tifa hides her face against his thigh, muffling the loud noises of her release into his skin. Cloud drags it out until she whimpers from being too sensitive. He eases her off of him, and she rolls unto her back; Tifa gazes at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry," she pants, "I didn't really—"

Cloud gives her that soft smile she thinks only she gets to see. "You did great."

He grips her arms, forcing her to sit up, and kisses her, lightly biting her bottom lip. It doesn't take long for his kisses to turn harsh, unrestrained, and Tifa answers in kind. An urgency that wasn't there before materializes between them—Cloud settles over her, his lips drifting down to her chest. Tifa cries out when he enters her, and suddenly she finds herself not caring about waking up anyone—all she cares about is what happens in this room, between Cloud and her.

"Fuck, Tifa." He stares down at her from where he kneels between her legs, taking in her heaving chest and the tight grip she has on the covers above her head. Cloud grabs her hands and holds them above her head.

It feels strange for a second only, like she finds herself at his mercy with nowhere to go, but she realizes that, right now, she doesn't want to be anywhere else. She gives him a slight smile so he can know she doesn't mind. As he begins to thrusts into her, Tifa moans loudly; his following laugh is strained.

"Gotta keep quiet, remember?"

"I don't care," she says, almost pleading. She keeps her eyes on him. "I don't care."

Cloud curses and leans forward. She thinks he's about to kiss her when he covers her mouth with his hand; there's barely any pressure, just enough to mute the noises he coaxes out of her, and she finds relief at the thought. He releases the hold he had on her hands and hides his face into her neck—his mouth presses against her skin, and she can sense the groans that get away from him. Tifa wraps her arms around him, her nails digging into his back as his thrusts grow harsh and frenzied. When she comes, she allows a shout to escape, knowing it won't bother anyone. Her legs grow tight around his hips, drawing him closer and deeper into her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Cloud whispers in her neck as he comes. He sags against her, his hand slipping away from her mouth. "Tifa—" Her name is drowned by his heavy panting.

"Hm?" Her hold on him tightens even if he doesn't make to move away.

He rolls on his side, arms coming up around her. "I'll buy you all the thigh highs you want."

Tifa can't help laughing. "I'm sure you will."

Cloud stays silent a moment, and she almost thinks he's asleep when he adds, "Is this okay? Holding you, I mean."

"Why?" Her question leaves her unbidden, and though she doesn't take it back, she's glad her face is hidden in his chest.

Maybe it's the alcohol left over in his blood, but he simply says, "I want to."

Her heart both twists and soars. What she wants to answer is _It's perfect_ , but instead she whispers, "It's okay."

And maybe for tonight it can be she thinks as she closes her eyes.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me as I scroll through endless websites to find types of thigh highs: it's for science.


	10. Sonata no.17 in D minor, Op.31, No.2 “The Tempest”: III. Allegretto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Welcome to Feelsville! I hope you enjoy your stay!
> 
> —  
> Sonata Op.31, No.2 "The Tempest": III. Allegretto - Beethoven

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **10:** Sonata no.17 in D minor, Op.31, No.2 “The Tempest”: III. Allegretto

—

Loud laughter reverberating through the house is what wakes Tifa first—the whisper of kisses along the back of her neck is what makes her open her eyes. The silken slide of her hair as it is pushed out of the way tickles, and she smiles into the pillow.

“What time is it?” she asks, her voice muffled.

Cloud hears her fine, being so close. “Who cares,” he mumbles against her skin.

She hums then laughs as he slips his arm around her and turns her so she lies on her back. He grabs both her hands and pins them above her head; Tifa’s breath hitches. “Cloud—”

His voice is soft as he says, “You liked that last night.” He stares down at her, and for a moment, Tifa hates the way his eyes drink her in.

“Yes,” she breathes out.

Cloud smiles, lazy and satisfied, as his free hand glides down to caress her breasts. His mouth follows suit, and he drops slow kisses over her chest. A sigh leaves her when his hand continues its path down her body and his fingers stroke her in light touches. He applies slight pressure on one leg so she spreads them. “That’s it,” he says. She feels the way his lips move as he speaks.

He keeps his caresses faint and his kisses gentle until her breathing picks up. When he slips his fingers into her, he raises his head to meet her gaze; her eyelids flutter closed, but she forces them open. There’s something she glimpses in Cloud’s expression that captivates her—maybe the way his eyes don’t leave her face, or how the slight tilt of his lips that makes her think he enjoys watching her fall apart at his mercy. Her back arches a little at a sharp sting of pleasure, and she struggles against his hold for a second.

“Cloud—” His hold on her hands tightens as she moans his name.

His leisurely pace holds; there is a shadow of frustration at not getting enough, but it’s really the slow build of tension that overwhelms Tifa. It becomes difficult for her to hold his stare; it feels like she’ll find the truth of who she is in it, and she’s afraid to be imagining what she’ll unearth—afraid to lie to herself. Still, she doesn’t look away.

The rise of voices in the hallway rings in her ears, indistinct and yet loud. Cloud’s eyes drift away for a second but return to hers soon enough; he smirks as he whispers, “Keep it down for real this time.”

His demand makes her heart surge as she remembers her pleading and her muffled shout as she came last night. She gasps as his hand gets rough all of a sudden. Part of her knows he must be doing it on purpose since he’s aware of the people in the hallway, but she finds she doesn’t care if it’s the case. Against the voices outside the room, the wet sounds of his hand thrusting into her mixing with the muted noises she can’t hold back seem loud and indecent. She bites her lip as he curls his fingers inside her, but a whimper escapes her anyway. Cloud doesn’t let up, and it soon becomes too much—harsh gasps and low whines spill out as her release threatens to break her. Above her, Cloud’s face becomes unreadable through her haze, but still she tries to keep her eyes on him.

“Cloud, I can’t—” Her whisper swells in a plea. “I can’t, I can’t—”

Her legs tense almost painfully, and she feels herself about to come—her eyes focus on his for a second before she closes them as she does break, then. Cloud kisses her before her voice can grow loud enough to fill the room; she pants and cries into his mouth as it goes on and on, his hand not slowing down until her legs shake and she folds them together to run away from his touch. He pulls his hand away, and Tifa opens her eyes when she senses it run a trail up her body, stopping over her heaving chest for a second and then carrying on. Cloud holds her jaw, tilting her head back—the harshness of his kiss is a stark contrast to the gentleness of his grasp.

“That felt good?” he asks in a murmur.

She can discern the note of amusement in his voice but can’t be bothered to come up with a witty reply. Instead, she gives him a slight nod. He lets go of her hands, but she leaves them where they are for a moment, only moving when it looks like he’s about to break away; Tifa wraps her arms around his neck, sliding her hands up to grip his hair. Cloud makes a pleased sound when she pulls him back down. She thinks she hears him mumble her name against her lips, but it gets lost in between lazy kisses.

Cloud slides out of her arms after a while; he stares at her, and her heart jumps at the plain affection she spies in his face. Tifa refuses to let herself hope, but there’s no denying the spark that was just kindled. It gives her a modicum of courage, and she goes to speak but changes her mind when Cloud gets off the bed. Instead, she watches him get dressed without a word.

“Meet me downstairs when you’re ready,” he says as he walks for the door. “We can head back whenever you want.”

Tifa sits up and nods; the door shuts behind him, and she suddenly feels the cold of the room. With a sigh, she forces herself to slip out from under the covers. While there’s no hurry, the thought of lingering here alone doesn’t sit well with her. She picks up the discarded pieces of her outfit from last night, grimacing at the ripped fishnets; there’s no point in putting them on anymore. Once she feels presentable and she’s found a bathroom, Tifa walks down the stairs.

The house is eerily quiet compared to last night or even when she woke up, and she wonders if Zack’s roommates have left. It’s as she passes by the room Cloud had been meant to clean up that she hears voices she recognizes—but it’s her name that has her freeze in her tracks.

“—you have with Tifa, it’s not like usual. You weren’t like this with Jessie. _That_ was just you having fun.”

The door is ajar enough for her to see Zack and Cloud sitting on a couch, their backs to her. Tifa is aware the best thing to do would be leaving, but the words claw at her, preventing her from running away.

Zack goes on at Cloud’s silence, “Dude, you kissed her in front of everyone at midnight.”

“I was drunk,” Cloud says after a pause.

“That’s never been an excuse for you, so don’t start now.”

“What do you want me to say, Zack?” She hears the tension in Cloud’s voice. “Tifa is my—”

“For fuck’s sakes, Cloud, if you say she’s your friend again—”

“But she is!” Cloud’s sudden exclamation might surprise Zack, but not Tifa—still, she feels the cracks in her heart expand. “You don’t understand what that means to—”

“ _I_ don’t understand?” Zack cuts him off, and she startles at the anger he exudes. “If anyone knows what your friendship is like, it’s me. If you care about her, you’ll stop being unfair to her because you can’t get your head out of your ass.”

Both guys fall silent, but Tifa still hears the echo of their words. Her heart beats fast enough that she almost misses the sound of someone walking towards the door; she retreats in time to disappear around the corner. Everything seems upside-down as she searches for Aerith; the house she got to know last night suddenly seems foreign and uninviting. Once it becomes obvious Aerith is nowhere to be seen, Tifa goes back upstairs—right on time to see her friend come out of a bedroom Tifa assumes is Zack’s. Before Aerith can say anything, Tifa drags her inside and closes the door. Aerith knows better than to protest; she stays quiet, waiting for Tifa to speak. Tears threaten to fall, but Tifa wills them not to—she refuses to cry for this, not when she knew what to expect.

“Can we leave?”

If the question surprises Aerith, she doesn’t let it show. “Yes, of course. What happened? Is it Cloud?” she adds softly.

Tifa gives a sharp nod; she feels both flooded by emotions and numb to what is around her. The explanation spills out of her with no more prompting. “It was supposed to be one time. I don’t know when it happened, I just—” She gulps. “I played piano for him, that’s how I started again.” Tifa stops to breathe, not having realized how fast she’d been talking; when she speaks next, the words come out louder than she’d like. “I don’t _get_ it! I don’t get how he can look at me like that and still say all I am is a friend.” The way he’d stared her down this morning is all she sees. “I don’t understand, Aerith,” she finishes, hating how meek her voice has become. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Tifa…” Aerith shakes her head, then turns around to pick up her jacket. “Come on, let’s go.”

Though Tifa is the one who asked, guilt at forcing her friend to leave nags at her. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little—” Her throat closes up.

“It’s fine,” Aerith says immediately. “I won’t make you stay here if you don’t want to. Do you have all of your things?”

Relief spears through Tifa. “Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

Aerith doesn’t give her time to change her mind; she grabs her hand and leads her out of the room and down the stairs. When they pass by the kitchen where Cloud and Zack are, Aerith barely stops.

“We’re leaving,” she says. The coldness dripping from her voice leaves no room for argument.

When Zack nods and glances at Tifa with eyes full of apologies, she realizes he must have caught her eavesdropping; it only makes her want to run away faster. Cloud frowns and stands up.

“Tifa?”

She grips Aerith’s hand harder, an unconscious gesture betraying her anxiety. “Something came up. I’ll see you later, okay?” she says, hoping it’ll be enough to deter him.

But Cloud must understand something is off because he goes around the table to come closer. Thankfully, Aerith pulls on Tifa’s hand, compelling her to leave. Tifa can hear Cloud’s puzzlement when he says her name again; Zack’s annoyed _sit your ass down_ follows. The moment they step outside of the house, Tifa feels her head clear a little; she can’t say if it’s the chill of the air or the simple fact of being away from Cloud.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Yeah.” Tifa exhales, needing to expel the emotions that built within her. “I just needed to get away.”

They’ve only pulled out of the driveway when Aerith asks, “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Tifa shakes her head, keeping her eyes on the road. “I would prefer to be alone.”

“Okay, but you’ll let me know the _second_ you don’t feel well.” It’s an order, and it makes Tifa crack a smile. “I’m not kidding.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tifa replies softly. “Thank you. And I know I said we’d talk about this today, but...”

“Don’t worry, I get it. Now’s not the time.”

Tifa stares ahead, her hands tight around the steering wheel. “No, it’s not.”

For the rest of the drive to her apartment, Aerith chatters about random topics in an obvious attempt to distract Tifa. Though it fails, Tifa keeps that fact to herself, playing along and responding to all cues. Aerith sends her worried side-glances, but Tifa ignores them. When they part, Aerith hesitates before getting out of the car—it strikes Tifa as selfish of her to have dragged her friend away only to drive her home, but she can’t find the will to care at the moment.

Once she’s alone at her place, Tifa plugs in her dead phone out of habit and changes into comfortable clothes. The phone beckons her as it lights up, showing new messages—she knows she’ll find some from Cloud. Looking at them isn’t appealing right now, but it’s better than the thought of him knocking at her door later.

 **Cloud:** _what happened_

 **Cloud:** _are you ok?_

She stares at the screen for a minute, unsure what to reply. Part of her wants to say _no I’m not ok_ , but she’s not ready for what that entails. Especially not after the way the last 24 hours have twisted her emotions around—the kiss at midnight and his affection this morning have messed with her head.

 **Tifa:** _i’m fine. i just need some time for myself so i’ll see you when school starts._

Her thumb hangs above the ‘send’ icon as she hesitates—asking for time away feels like a dead giveaway that something is wrong, and yet she can’t pretend she doesn’t need it. She sends the message before she can continue overthinking. She doesn’t even have the time to put the phone down before Cloud is already replying; her heart crawls up her throat as she observes the little dots jump, then stop, then start again—it takes him a few minutes to finally send her something.

 **Cloud** : _ok, let me know if you need anything._

Tifa sprawls on her bed, phone in hand, and stares at the ceiling. The irony of Cloud asking her what she needs when she is upset because of him makes her laugh, but it trails off quickly enough. It’s only now that she allows a few tears to escape.

—

The next time Tifa sees Cloud is at school. The new semester started over two weeks ago, and they both kept their distances. She knows he did it out of respect for the boundary she put into place, and she appreciates it, but she’s also aware this can’t go on forever. Though she needed the time to sort her thoughts, she also needs to talk to him so she can have an idea of where to go from here. So when she spots Cloud as she walks into her usual cafeteria intending to study on Thursday afternoon, Tifa understands now is the time to reach out.

Cloud raises his head when she sits next to him; he looks ready to tell whoever it is to go sit somewhere else, but his expression shifts when he notices it’s her. Tifa puts her bag down on the table and gives him a slight smile.

“Hey,” she says. “Am I bothering you?”

He blinks as if startled but then shakes his head; the tension radiating from him causes worry to gnaw at Tifa.

“How are you?” he asks. The hesitancy in his voice is hard to miss.

“Good, thanks.” An awkward pause stretches, their silence only filled by the background noise. “I just needed some time,” she blurts out.

Cloud frowns and twists around in his chair so he can face her. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah, kind of.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, telling herself not to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry for shutting you out.”

“No worries,” he says with forced casualness. Cloud runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the strands. “I wanted to write, but you said to give you time, so…”

“I did.” He nods, but the way his eyes flee hers makes her think something is on his mind. She leans forward, getting into his space a little; Cloud doesn’t move away. “What is it?”

“I just…” He bites his lip. “I feel like I did something wrong, like I hurt you. But I’d like to think you’d tell me if it was the case.”

Tifa takes a deep breath to steel herself. She doesn’t want to have this conversation here, but there’s no avoiding breaching the subject.

“Because we’re friends?” She tries to keep her tone neutral.

Her words cut off whatever he was about to say next; Cloud meets her eyes as if he’s taken aback. Tifa can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“I mean…” He hesitates, then carries on, “That’s part of it, yeah.”

“What’s the other part, then?”

Cloud plays with his watch, and she recognizes the gesture as one of his anxious tells. “You said you trust me, so I thought…” He lets out of sigh of frustration. “Tifa, just tell me. Please.”

Despite how earnest he sounds, she can’t bring herself to speak of what bothers her—not right now, and certainly not here. No matter how the conversation turns, the public setting isn’t favorable.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But once we head back, alright?” She waits for his nod. “Do you have any more classes for the day?”

“I’m done. I was just killing time waiting for the bus.”

Her pulse accelerates at the idea of this discussion happening earlier than anticipated. As she goes to stand, someone stops next to her chair. Tifa looks up; her frown morphs into a smile when she recognizes Vincent.

“Hey! Long time no see.”

“Hey.” Vincent nods in Cloud’s direction in a wordless greeting. “I won’t bother you for long, but I was going to call you tonight, so I figured I’d tell you now.”

Tifa tilts her head to the side. “Tell me what?”

“For the event,” he says. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his obvious distaste. “It starts at six. I’m gonna need your address to come pick you up.”

She catches Cloud’s frown form the corner of her eyes but dismisses it. “Yeah, sure. I’ll text it to you.”

“You okay for the dress code?”

“Yeah, I have a dress that should do the job.”

“Perfect.” Vincent hitches the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “Did you get far with your new piece? It was a Nocturne, right?”

The day she’d fled Zack’s house, Tifa had stayed at the piano most of the evening—she had tried her hand at playing whatever she could find and ended up stumbling on her edition of Chopin’s Nocturnes. It had taken her a minute to gather the courage to open the booklet—the spine was already broken from years of use, and she had taken care to avoid looking at the Nocturne in C Minor. Instead, she had gone through the ones that came after. As she had reached the nineteenth Nocturne, her hands had stilled. She had been thrown back into the past, to that time she had learned her first Nocturne and how proud she had felt. Something about the melody had always stricken her as haunting, sad, but also peaceful, and as she had begun sight-reading it, the impression had remained. While the thought of playing a Nocturne hurt, Tifa had taken the plunge, telling herself she could always back out and choose something else if it became too much.

“Yeah, it’s the one in E-Minor,” she says with a nod. “Figured I’d start with one of the easier ones. And I also played it before.”

It’s difficult not to notice how tense Cloud is being next to her. Though he says nothing, Tifa can sense something is off; when she glances at him and sees him texting, she figures it must be his brother. A wave of guilt hits her as she realizes that by avoiding him, she left Cloud to deal with this issue alone while knowing how hard it’s been for him.

Vincent’s smile speaks of his genuine relief. “That’s great. I was worried you wouldn’t pursue, so yeah…that’s good. Just make sure to play something you like so it stays fun, especially since you’ve only started.”

“Yes, teacher.” Her dry tone is balanced by the mocking look she sends him. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you around. Don’t forget to send me your address.”

Vincent waves as he departs, and Tifa watches him go for a moment before turning back to Cloud. To her surprise, he seems angry—the signs are subtle, like he’s trying to hide it, but Tifa catches on.

“Did something happen with Seph?” she asks with a glance at the phone he still holds.

His frown deepens, and he shoves his phone in his jacket’s pocket. “A lot happened with Seph. Are we heading back?”

The curtness of his words gives rise to anxiety, and Tifa’s heart twists in her chest. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They don't speak for the drive back. Tifa grips the steering wheel tightly, a bad presentiment coiling all around her mind. Cloud’s sudden shift in attitude worries her—on one hand, she gets the impression he’s mad at her; on the other, it’s like her mentioning Seph is what set him off. His silence wouldn’t be so telling if she couldn’t sense the discontentment seeping from him. It’s only once they’ve stepped on their floor’s landing that Tifa breaks from the unsaid pressure. Her hand shakes as she unlocks the door to her apartment.

“What is up with you?”

The uncertainty causes her words to come out curt, and it’s clear it irritates Cloud; his frown deepens, and there’s no missing the sudden brusqueness of his movements as he follows her inside.

“I don’t know, Tifa. Why don’t you tell me?” Cloud drops his backpack on the floor, uncaring of the neighbors below. " _I'm_ the one who has no fucking clue what’s going on.”

It hits her, then, that her avoidance affected him more than she had expected it would. That maybe she had taken what she had overheard at Zack’s the wrong way—taken his insistence that they are friends as being dismissive instead of something to be valued. And still she can’t ignore how she felt that day; the hurt and the confusion might have lessened with the weeks, but they’ve dug their claws in her heart for long enough that she can’t shake them off.

“Well, you’re not the only one,” she says, doing what she can to sound calm.

“So something _did_ happen?” He laughs at her silent admission, and there’s a cruel edge to the sound, something she’s never heard from him before. “And instead of talking to me, you just ran off?”

“That’s rich coming from you.” The words tumble out unheeded, and she regrets them immediately.

Cloud flinches, but his anger doesn’t fade; if anything, her comment only fuels it. “I don’t even know what the fuck happened!”

Tifa walks past him and deeper into the apartment. She wants to shout the truth at him, or hide away so she doesn’t have to see him. Maybe it’s both at once, and that’s why it all overwhelms her—thoughts spiral through her mind and her emotions jumble. Everything feels too intense, too scary—it’s just so much _worse_ than how it was before she talked to Cloud earlier today, and for a second she regrets having gone to see him.

The admission is on the tip of her tongue when she hears Cloud follow her. Her annoyance flares up, and she whirls around to face him. “Why are you being like this suddenly! I was ready to talk to you, but then you just had to—to—” She cuts off to will herself to calm down. If she gets angry as well, this won’t go anywhere. “Is this because of your brother?”

The question wasn’t the right one, apparently; Cloud scoffs the second she finishes talking. “Not everything in my life has to be about Seph.”

Despite his effort to dismiss the question, Tifa can read between the lines. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about Seph!” Cloud’s shout almost takes her by surprise, but his agitation had been building too quickly, too intensely for any other outcome. “I want to know why you avoided me! I want to know why you’re suddenly going on a fucking date and you didn’t tell me!”

Confusion takes hold of Tifa. “Who said I was going on a—” The realization that he must have interpreted her conversation with Vincent as them going on a date slams into her, and she can’t hide her shock in time.

“Yeah, _that_ date,” he says when she stays silent. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“I’m not—it’s—it’s not a _date_!”

Cloud rakes his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands before letting go. “Then what the fuck is it, Tifa? What do you expect me to think! You disappear on me without explanation for weeks, and when you reappear you want to _talk_ and you’re going on a date? I thought we could be honest with each other! I thought we were friends!”

Her eyes close at the last word—part of her is so sick of hearing it coming from him, and yet she understands now how much friendship is something Cloud values. And she gets the feeling her justifications will only appear insincere at the moment. She takes a deep breath.

“We are friends,” she says. Her voice breaks, but she carries on before he can notice. “But that’s not—” It hits her what the reason for his shift in attitude might be; she chooses her next words carefully. “You say we can be honest with each other.”

He gives her a curt nod; the curiosity in his eyes doesn’t obscure the hard glint of frustration, but it gives Tifa enough hope to continue.

“Then, this is me being honest—I’m not going on a date with Vincent.”

Cloud stares at her in silence for a moment; her heart swells under his gaze, and she thinks it will burst and its shrapnel will be forever embedded inside her.

“He knows, doesn’t he?” There’s a hint of desperation to his question, like he is begging her to deny it.

“Know it’s not a date? Yes, he’s the—”

“About your history with piano.” Cloud lost some of his hesitancy, and instead the harshness has returned; it sharpens his words enough that they cut through her skin. “He knows, right?”

Her pause is too long to be anything other than a confession. Still, Cloud waits for her to speak, for her to confirm what he already knows.

“He does,” she says, keeping her tone even. “He’s the reason I started playing again.”

As the statement leaves her, Tifa doesn’t need Cloud’s sudden blank expression or the wince he tries to hold back to make her aware she should have worded this differently. Just like she doesn’t need Cloud to admit to what he’s feeling for her to understand. Though it doesn’t seem obvious to him, Tifa can’t figure out any other explanation for his reactions.

He’s jealous.

And it both infuriates and thrills her. He has no right to act like this with the way they stand; yet she can’t deny the possibilities budding in her heart at the thought.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushes out before he can speak. “I meant that he pushed me enough so I could eventually play again. And we talked about it since it was part of the problem.” It strikes her as strange how she feels as if she must defend herself; the impression causes her irritation to reappear. In the back of her mind, she’s aware what she’ll say next won’t help the situation, but it’s the truth—and something she has no reason to hide. “Vincent helped me in a way no one else could have.”

Cloud says nothing, not a first; a tense silence settles between them, and Tifa can sense how thin it stretches and how easily it will shatter. When he speaks next, Tifa holds her breath.

“I thought I was helping you.” The quietude of his voice is a stark contrast to its previous loudness.

“You were. You _are_ ,” she says. It’s almost a plea to make him understand. “It’s not—It doesn’t have to be the same.”

There’s no ignoring the disquiet that controls him—and Tifa knows his reaction isn’t solely due to his jealousy. But she also knows better than to bring up Seph right now. Instead, she focuses on trying to navigate the maze they got lost in—she just has to find an exit, she thinks, and she can drag them out and away from this.

“It’s not the same? What does that even mean?”

Tifa’s pulse drums so loud he has to hear it. She can’t say the truth, not right now—can she? “Vincent is my friend.”

“What am I, then?” His voice rises again; not so much a shout as frustration begging to be set free. “I just want to know what the fuck is happening, Tifa! I thought we were—I thought—” He bites his lip as if to prevent the words from being said. “I don’t understand what I _did_. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I can’t. I fucking can’t, Tifa. So what am I supposed to think?” She goes to speak, but he carries on over her. “We said we’d tell each other if we wanted to end this, so I didn’t expect fucking radio silence!”

His assumption nurtures the vexation she had been trying to curb, and it becomes too much to contain it. “I never said that’s what I wanted!”

“No, but you cut me off without explanation and suddenly are going on a date with someone?”

It’s his insistence that she’s going on a date with Vincent that angers her the most; in the back of her mind, she thinks it must be because of how small of a thing it is to her. “Again, it’s not a date!”

Cloud runs a hand over his face, then through his hair once more. “Fine, it’s not a fucking date. You still...” He trails off as if realizing something; Tifa gets the impression she won’t like what comes next when his frown deepens and his eyes close for a second too long. “How long has he known?”

His words make her heart constrict; pain and bitterness seep through the cracks, poisoning whatever logic and self-control she had. As she goes to speak, the thought that she’ll only worsen things flash in her mind—but she shoves it aside.

“I told him because he did whatever he could to make me feel better about piano.” It’s not an answer to his question, not exactly, but Cloud sees where she is going with this; she can tell from the flare of apprehension that transforms his features. “Because he just wanted to help and nothing else. Vincent did something no one else could have, so of course I told him!” Cloud’s gaze strays away from her, and it infuriates her even more. “So, yes, Cloud, he knew before you did! And I don’t get why it’s such a big fucking deal!” This time, she’s the one who shouts. There’s something liberating about it, and yet she hates that she raised her voice. It’s too late, though, and the dam that had contained her emotions ruptures. “You’re not entitled to my secrets because we’ve slept together! And you have no right to act like this!”

Thunder obscures his face—and she knows they’ve lost their footing. All that’s left to do is fall down the never-ending hill until they hit the lowest point.

“This is has nothing to do with us sleeping together!” He’s raised his voice as well, and in a way, Tifa is glad for it.

“So it has to do with us being friends, is that it?”

“Yes! You said—”

But Tifa doesn’t want to hear what she might have said before—she just wants this illusion to end. “Stop saying we’re friends!”

The following silence is abrupt, only broken by her heavy breathing. The way she spoke doesn’t even register with her; all she can concentrate on how she feels so astray that nothing makes sense anymore.

“I’m tired of hearing that!” The confession tumbles from her lips without her wanting it to—without her thinking it through. Her nails dig into her palms, the sensation anchoring her to the modicum of reason she has left. “I’m sick of hearing that’s all I am! I don’t want to do this anymore!”

The way Cloud at once becomes unreadable would have made her anxious any other day; now it only fans her anger. He inhales, then exhales loudly. “At least you’re honest now,” he says, cold and detached.

She gets the impression he’s trying to dissociate from their reality, and though she’s not sure why, his reaction is the breaking point. “I didn’t lie to you when I said I needed time and I didn’t lie about Vincent either! You’re just being childish!”

“But you could have told me!” Cloud’s voice levels with hers, and she realizes the neighbors must hear them. “If you had just fucking _told_ me what was up, or what the fuck is going on with Vincent—”

“Nothing!” It’s a shriek this time, one she didn’t mean to let escape. “There’s nothing going on, and if there was, it wouldn’t be any of your business!”

“Oh, so it wouldn’t matter that we’ve been sleeping together?”

“It would not because you’re not in a position to—”

“The fuck I’m not!”

“Not as a _friend_ ,” she snaps, making sure her resentment is heard.

“So I’m back to being your friend now?” He laughs, his disbelief ringing clear. “I don’t see how I’m different from Vincent, then.”

“Oh my god, you’re being such a _child_ —”

“You said we weren’t the same—”

“You’re not!”

“—but I don’t see what you mean since you can’t fucking say what is going—”

“I don’t love Vincent!” The admission rips out of her in a scream, but she doesn’t even realize what she’s said, not immediately. “And I don’t understand what the _fuck_ makes you think you two mean the same to me! Are you oblivious or do you just not care!”

As her words settle between them and the silence takes over, Tifa notices little things—the way her hands shake and how far apart Cloud stands from her; the way his eyes have gone wide and how still he seems. Mostly, she feels flooded by the urge to cry as what she said at last echoes in her ears. Tifa hides her face behind her hands, unwilling to face him now that the truth hangs between them.

She hears the shuffling of his feet—not like he came closer, but like he can’t decide if he should leave or stay. “Tifa—”

The contrast of his voice softening is stark against the unexpected quiet. “Please leave,” she whispers.

Her plea is muffled by her hands; maybe Cloud hears her nonetheless, or maybe he already knows what she wants because he says, “No, we should—”

“I don’t want to talk!” She takes a deep breath in an attempt to quell her rising anxiety. “I want you to leave me alone.”

This time, his footsteps do get closer, but she steps back, pulling her hands away to look at him. There’s a certain awkwardness to Cloud now, like he can’t shake out the tension from their fight while wanting to talk it out. She hates that he’s trying to make it better; it’s a fleeting thought, but the strength of it stays with her.

When he goes to speak, her panic expands, and it makes her say something, anything so he’ll go away. “There’s nothing to discuss, Cloud.”

“That’s not true.”

She shakes her head, counting down to the moment she won’t be able to hold back the tears anymore. He needs to be gone by then. “It is!” Tifa ignores the way his breath hitches. “ _You_ didn’t trust me enough to come see me and ask what was going on.”

His jaw clenches as if he’s getting angry, but she has a hunch it’s directed at himself. “I wanted to respect—”

“No, you just didn’t care enough.” It’s a lie, and they both know it, yet it’s the only thing Tifa can think to say. “You could have talked to me instead of assuming I didn’t want to see you anymore. And you should have believed me about Vincent from the start.” Tifa almost chokes on her words—this time, she’s telling the truth, and she figures that’s why it hurts so much.

“Tifa, you know that’s not—”

“I don’t!” The high pitch of her voice is a giveaway of her agitation, and she hates that he heard it. “Cloud, just _leave_.”

He stands still for a long moment, staring down at her with what she thinks might be alarm and some regret, but mostly that same affection she had spied in his eyes that day at Zack’s house. And it only worsens the chaos of her emotions. Like on that day, she wonders how he can look at her that way—and now she wonders if maybe she wasn’t imagining it this whole time.

Cloud breaks his stillness at last; he doesn’t reach for her, and for that she is grateful. He walks towards the door and picks up his bag, shouldering it in silence. For a second, she thinks he’ll say something—part of her even hopes he will—but he steps out of the apartment, letting the door shut softly behind him. As soon as the telltale sound of him entering his own apartment is heard, Tifa sits down on the couch. There’s a minute or two where it’s all quiet, and she cherishes it.

The music starts too quickly. Tifa recognizes the piece from the opening notes, and she can’t help but think how apt Cloud’s choice is. Beethoven’s third movement of “The Tempest” fills the space separating them, a reflection of the turmoil raging inside her. Though it’s only a passing thought, she curses Zack for letting her know Cloud plays classical music when he’s upset. She doesn’t want to consider how he feels right now.

But there’s a certain comfort in the way the music resonates, and despite herself, she thinks maybe this is why Cloud hates the silence so much—because of how protected it must make him feel as the world can’t hear you.

Her tears finally fall, and Tifa lets the sounds be drowned by the storm.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the obscene amount of ! in this chapter.


	11. Ballade No.1 in G Minor, Op.23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! 
> 
> First, thank you all so much for the reception to last chapter! It was amazing and overwhelming, and I just want you all to know how grateful I am for all of your support. Speaking of, I have decided to finally be active on twitter after many years of, well, doing nothing lmao. So you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/sk_evans) if you're interested. I'm aiming to be more active and productive writing-wise in the future, and I hope you will enjoy what is to come <3
> 
> That said, it's time to make the move to Feelstopia, y'all!
> 
> —  
> I hesitated a lot between two pieces for this chapter, but in the end, the original choice stayed. Here are all the pieces mentioned in this chapter:  
> Ballade no.1 in G Minor - Chopin  
> "The Swan" - Saint Saëns  
> "June" - Tchaikovsky

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **11:** Ballade No.1 in G Minor, Op.23

—

In the week following her fight with Cloud, Tifa gets the impression that time has slowed down, like she’s anticipating something without knowing when it will happen, without being able to tell when she will get the relief of knowledge.

The illusion shatters on the morning she wakes up to a text from Cloud. She picks up her phone, still sleepy, still disoriented—his name flashes back at her on the screen, and for a second, Tifa forgets about everything and opens the message sent at 3AM. It’s when she reads it that her mind catches up with reality. Her eyes drink in the words, and she unconsciously searches for hints of something, anything.

 **Cloud:** _hey. i’m not sure what to do. i want to talk to you but it feels like you won’t talk to me. and i get that. i just don’t want this to be the end. this isn’t what i wanted. please let me know what you need_

Tifa reads it once, twice, and as she goes to read it a third time, she realizes there’s another one, sent an hour after the first.

 **Cloud** : _i don’t want to make the same mistake._

For a moment, it feels like she’s going to cry, but she pushes down the urge. Avoiding Cloud hasn’t been hard for the last week; that’s how Tifa remembered how they lived for weeks as neighbors and never talked. If they don’t seek each other out, they don’t cross paths. But there is no running away from his presence next door. Cloud has been playing a lot of music these days, and she can hear him walk around at times; it’s not any different than with her other neighbors, but it’s a constant reminder she could do without.

Her thumbs hang over the screen as she debates her reply. She has to get ready for school or she’ll be late, but that doesn’t seem to matter right now. Part of her would like to tell him _let’s talk_ while another wants to delete the messages; the uncertainty pulls at her, making her lean one way then the other until she takes the plunge.

 **Tifa:** _can i call you?_

She holds her breath as she sends her message—this is a terrible idea, she thinks, she shouldn’t have—

But the phone lights up from an incoming call before she can decide if what she did is a mistake. Tifa closes her eyes, almost tempted to decline the call—but it’s the itch to hear his voice that wins. She says nothing as she brings the phone to her ear, and there’s a brief moment of silence between them. A reflection of what they’ve become, she thinks, silent and apart.

“Hey,” Cloud says once it’s obvious she won’t speak. “How have you—” He cuts off as if realizing this might not be the best question to ask.

“I just woke up.” She’s not sure why she feels the need to state this. Maybe to establish a kind of normalcy—to remind them both that life goes on despite hearts breaking and trust shattering.

“Okay.”

The silence comes back, filling the illusory distance—because Tifa knows he must be on the other side of the wall. For the last month, she’s heard him walk around until noon on Fridays. And of course, she’s heard the music that seems to accompany him everywhere now.

“Cloud—” Tifa takes a deep breath, both to steel herself and to make sure she doesn’t choke on the sharpness of her words. “I can’t—carry on with this.” He stays quiet, so quiet that she wonders if he’s breathing still. “It hurts me,” she confesses, soft and yet with a firmness she doesn’t feel.

The unsaid floats between them. Tifa isn’t ready to tell him she loves him—not truly tell him—and she doesn’t know if it’s something she _should_ say. The awkwardness of their fight hasn’t faded away; it has left behind a fear, an anxiety that breathes down her neck. Everything is unsure now; she’s lost her footing and there is no right way up or down anymore.

“Tifa… Can we meet, please? Whenever you want,” he rushes out at her lack of reply.

It feels like the coward’s way out to say no, but Tifa can’t think of saying yes. There is too much at stake by saying yes, she thinks, and sometimes it’s easier to leave things unsaid and unfinished than to live with finality and heartbreak.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’m not sure I want to see you.” There’s some truth in her words, but she knows they are more of a lie—one she can tell herself over and over until it morphs into gospel. “At least, not for now,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow.

“Oh. Okay.” He tries to mask his confusion, but a glimmer shines through nonetheless.

Tifa bites her lip, debating what to say next, but Cloud saves her from her dilemma when he speaks again; this time, a trace of frustration joins the surprise.

“I meant what I said in my text, Tifa. But—” She hears him shuffle through the phone, a sign of his nervousness. “Uh, I need things to be clear.”

She tries not to let his words bother her, but it’s difficult—all they remind her of is how things were everything but clear for her, the lines blurred beyond recognition. And perhaps it’s the messiness of that uncertainty that grips her heart, then, because her chest tightens and her breathing quickens. To define what they have—had, rather—scares her beyond words at the moment; she can’t hear barriers being put into place again, can’t bear to listen to empty promises and kind dismissals. And the notion of hope rings too false, too impossible, too desperate—there is nothing to do for now, she thinks, nothing but to lock the past months away until she feels ready to dig them up.

“Cloud… I’m not—” She inhales, holding in the air until it feels like she will suffocate and she has no choice but to let it go. “I think it’s best if we stay apart for now.” His end of the line is still; she hears nothing, and for a second there’s the doubt that he hung up. “I’m sorry, I just—I just can’t do this right now.”

“Do what?”

His sudden answer is not what she had expected, and it destabilizes her—but it’s the thinly veiled frustration, the barely-there urgency that strikes her. And perhaps this is what kindles her own resolution, only she wants nothing but for this call to be over.

“It’s not fair—”

“I just want to talk to—”

“I don’t.” Tifa closes her eyes as her heart beats faster and faster; if she hides from reality, maybe she will get through this and her heart will slow and wither—or it will burst and she will drown in its deeply, deeply sealed burdens.

“Tifa, what you said—” There’s something reckless in Cloud’s voice, something she hadn’t yet heard from him. It’s almost as if he is panicking and looking for a way, any way to fix this.

And Tifa hates that she loves that about him, this rashness to do the right thing. Because then she wonders if that’s why he wants so much to mend what they broke—because it’s what should be done and not what he wants. It’s those doubts that shatter her hopes and illusions. There would be nothing worse than be reduced to an obligation, and the notion of this fear concretizing hurts too much for today—and maybe even for tomorrow and ever.

“Don’t. Please,” she adds in a whisper.

Silence settles again, overbearing in its loudness. Tifa counts the beats and reaches twenty before Cloud speaks. The urgency and frustration have vanished from his voice, and instead, she can hear resignation and disappointment. It’s hard to tell which hurts more, the before or the after.

“Alright,” he says. “That’s…”

“I’m sorry.” Tifa’s voice breaks as tears fill her eyes. There’s something so final about apologizing for this even if it’s not how she means it, and the stress of that definitiveness adds to the hurt.

That’s why she hangs up, not giving him the time to say anything. She can’t stand to listen to him anymore, not for now. Tifa drops the phone on the bed, remembering school—but the thought of heading out and being surrounded by people and seeing friends and—and—

She falls back on her bed to stare at the ceiling. As she wipes away unshed tears, Tifa tells herself the day can wait. So can the world.

Right now, she wants to stay hidden. She wants to be alone.

Right now, she wants to close her eyes and see nothing but the darkness of her mind.

—

“This place looks amazing.”

Vincent grimaces. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘boring’.”

“Well…” Tifa gives him a playful smile. “That too, I guess.”

With a sigh, he leads them towards the back of the room where a grand piano rests on a platform. If Vincent is nervous at the thought of playing before all these people, he doesn’t show it. He stops next to the steps but doesn’t climb, choosing to rest against the wall. Tifa stays close, unwilling to mingle amongst people she doesn’t know and in a place she doesn’t belong; the luxury dripping from the hotel’s ballroom is beautiful and intimidating, a reminder she stands out of place.

“When are you playing?”

Vincent glances at his phone before putting it away in his suit’s pocket. “Ten minutes?”

She laughs, taken aback. “You’re not sure?”

“I’m meant to play for background noise.” He shrugs at her incredulous expression. “It’s not a concert. I play while they chat and drink, and then they eat and listen to speeches.”

“Oh. Are we meant to stay for those?”

“Hell no.”

Tifa hides her smirk behind her hand as a couple walks past them. Once they’re gone, she says, “So no fancy dinner?”

“Unfortunately.” He gestures at a passing waiter with a tray of appetizers. “Better stock up on those.” His eyes stray behind her shoulders, and he sighs. “Well, here’s the signal. I’ll see you after.”

“Good luck,” she says before he strides away.

The room doesn’t fall silent as Vincent walks unto the platform, but Tifa notes the sudden attention thrown his way. Her heart constricts as the memory of feeling that scrutiny hits her; part of her envies Vincent for the ease he seems to carry everywhere, and more importantly on the stage. Even as he sits down at the piano, nothing appears to bother him—not the stares of the crowd, not the weight of expectations, and not the anxiety of failing. The opening of notes of a piece Tifa knows too well glide through the air—a hush settles over the room as the music engulfs it.

Back when she was a child, her mother used to play this—Saint-Saëns’s _The Swan_ always soothed her, she said, because she heard the water flowing, slow and graceful. Tifa didn’t understand then, and her mother moved on to other pieces; though she played it again, the occurrence was infrequent, not marking enough for Tifa to remember. But now—now, a kind of understanding dawns on her, as if the music is gently undoing the blindfold she wore for the last four years. And for the first time, Tifa thinks she knows what her mother meant about _hearing_ the music instead of listening to it. Tifa hears the water, too—but she also knows it’s not what her mother heard, not exactly. Long-buried words echo, and Tifa feels a soft kind of shame at having forgotten them. _You will never play like me—you will always play like_ you.

She can’t help but close her eyes and let the music run over her. For years and years, she’d believed in her mother’s promise. She still does, but now Tifa understands it in a way she never could have before. It hurts to wonder about this—after all, she will never get an answer as there is no one to ask, not anymore. But that need has begun to fade, slowly but surely, and instead, there is an urge for discovery. Whenever her mother said _you will always play like you_ , Tifa had assumed she spoke of the piano—of how they would interpret the music their own way. And yet, as Vincent nears the end of the piece, Tifa thinks over the meaning of her mother’s words. She hears the music Vincent plays, but that’s not all—she also hears something beyond the twinkling notes, something peaceful and a little sad; something quite lonely and somewhat mournful; something she’s never heard before; something that seems so much so like what she knows of Vincent that she can’t help but think of it as his song.

The piece ends, and that’s when Tifa notices the chatter of the crowd. Vincent was honest when he said he was playing for background noise, and it angers her that people barely listen—but she also likes the idea of being the only one to hear the true music he plays. He doesn’t pause for long, only enough for the last notes to linger, before starting a new piece. The melody is once again familiar, though it takes Tifa a moment to place it—Tchaikovsky’s _June_ from ‘The Seasons’. Close to her, a man laughs, the sound is too loud; it cuts through the music, but Vincent doesn’t waver. Tendrils of envy snake through her mind; she turns away to observe the crowd instead. She longs for the days where she could play this way, too, like nothing existed other than the beauty she weaved, not even herself. The feeling of having something essential missing hits her at full speed with a vivid intensity—the peace of mind she sought in the past has been absent for so long that she almost forgot about it until now.

Vincent plays on and on, as uncaring of his audience as they are of him. It’s when he seeks her gaze and raises his eyebrows almost as if daring her that Tifa knows part of him cares. For a second she thinks he will stop—just get to his feet and walk away—but if there is one thing she’s discovered about Vincent, it’s his will to keep trying. After all, he never gave up with her, so why should this be any different?

From where she stands, Tifa sees him take a deep breath; his hands lift as in preparation—and then drop on the keys in a well-known opening. The rich, dark tone of the music tolls throughout the room, grabbing the crowd’s attention. Conversations fall to whispers as the people listen to Vincent pay Chopin’s Ballade No.1 in G Minor.

The first thought Tifa has is of how apt of a choice the piece is. It’s famous and difficult, the perfect way to seize this kind of nonchalant audience and force them to listen. But as Vincent progresses through the piece, Tifa notices the faint bitterness that flared within her—something unheeded and unwelcome. It’s a strange jealousy, she realizes; she’s not envious of Vincent and his abilities, not really. Rather, she’s angry at herself—for not playing all these years, for being scared, for swimming in regret and never trying to shrug it off. As a teenager, she had wanted to play this piece. To her, it had been a goal to work for, an accomplishment to be proud of. And now, it hurts to be reminded of what she could have done.

Maybe because of this, Tifa can’t concentrate on Vincent’s playing. She watches the crowd, instead, taking in their impressed expressions and hushed wonder. Some appear annoyed, like Vincent’s playing bothers them because of how it captivates the others. In a way, Tifa understands them, and she wishes she didn’t.

But as the main theme returns and Vincent approaches the ending section, the atmosphere around her shifts. It’s difficult to say if it’s really just _her_ —how her perception changes and her emotions swell—or if it’s the same for all present, though in the end, Tifa doesn’t care. The urgent rise of the music fills all the space; it digs deep within her to find all the crevices and the hollows—the music soothes the same wounds it created in a bittersweet reminder that it can heal as well as hurt.

Silence falls over the audience as Vincent’s hands lift away from the keys, the last note resounding from his hold on the pedal. Tifa sweeps the room with a glance, not sure what to expect—will they applaud, will they resume chatting, will they keep on with the oppressing silence? Vincent doesn’t wait; he stands and pushes the bench back under the piano. As he makes to stride away, someone claps, setting off the others. There are no cheers, only quiet, polite applause, and though she isn’t sure why, Tifa finds she would have preferred the silence.

Vincent reaches her quickly enough, swerving around curious people and avoiding attempts at conversation; his only stop is to grab a glass of wine, which he presents to her. Tifa accepts with a slight smile.

“That was great,” she says. The words leave her before she can think them through—they feel like both a truth and a lie. His performance _was_ great, there is no denying this, but the wave of envy ripples within her despite being indistinct and unwanted.

He shrugs, but there is an amused glint in his eyes. “Glad you enjoyed.”

“I always wanted to learn that piece.” Tifa takes a sip of the wine. “The Ballade, I mean.”

“You can still learn it.” Vincent gives her an incredulous expression when she shakes her head. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I could. It’s…too much for me.”

“Tifa.” The way he says her name makes her think she’s being scolded, and she looks away from him. “It’s too much for you _now_. It doesn’t have to be the case forever.”

“My skills aren’t—”

“They aren’t what they could be, yeah,” Vincent cuts her off. “But you have to stop thinking about the ‘could’ and focus on the ‘can’. I know it’s hard to let it go,” he adds when she stays quiet. “But you’ll feel better about yourself and music if you shake off this vision of what could have been.”

It’s easier not to reply, and this is what Tifa wants to do—take the easy way out. She’s had enough of arguments and hardships for a while. But maybe it’s the way he says this, like he has all the patience in the world, that makes her waver. And beyond that, what strikes her is the loneliness she notes in his words—the same kind she heard through his playing. To her, it’s as if he wants her to cross that invisible line into music because then he wouldn’t be alone anymore. But it’s not something she can give him, Tifa decides—it’s not even something she can give herself.

“I’ll try.” It’s a feeble promise, one she’s not sure she means. Still, he nods like that’s all he needed from her.

“I’m getting hungry,” he says with a frown.

The change in topic is enough for the pressure to lift from Tifa’s shoulders. “So now you want to stay for the food?”

The look he sends her is devoid of mirth. “If you want to suffer all those speeches, be my guest.”

“Thanks, I’m good.” She laughs at his grimace. “Will you have to play more?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.” He checks the time on his watch. “We can leave whenever you want. As long as it’s before the speeches,” he carries on with a mock-glare.

Her phone vibrates in her small purse, and she fishes it out. As usual for the preceding two weeks, her emotions whirl into a mess when she takes in the sender and sees it’s not Cloud. It’s her father asking for news. An older woman approaches Vincent, engaging him in a discussion Tifa tunes out—she uses the time to type a quick reply. It’s as she goes to exit the app that she hesitates. Before she knows it, she’s brought up Cloud’s message thread on the screen. Their last message—her _can i call you?—_ stares back at her with a special kind of cruelty. All she can think of is how she’s the one who said _I’m sorry_ and ran away; the guilt runs deep through her, deeper than she would have ever imagined. It’s too tempting to write him a message, and maybe that’s why she locks the screen and puts the phone away.

Tifa looks up, surprised to see Vincent standing close once more, his conversation with the older lady done. “What did she want?”

“Oh, she’s my teacher at school,” he says. He nods in the general direction of her retreat. “She’s the one who forced me to come here tonight.”

“Ah, okay.” The lack of enthusiasm in her answer can’t be ignored, but Tifa doesn’t rectify it. What was left of her good mood faded away.

Vincent stares at her for a moment before asking, “What happened?” He gestures at her purse. “Bad news?”

She shakes her head and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. Though she can tell it must be her anxiety that is making the room warm, Tifa can’t shrug off the uncomfortable feeling. She wishes she had tied up her hair instead of letting it down. Instead, she gathers the heavy locks and slides them over one shoulder.

It’s not something she would admit aloud, but she wanted to look pretty tonight—it had started with a simple need to make herself feel better. As the day of the event drew closer, Tifa had found herself a little nervous and somewhat angry, but mostly downhearted; the night was now nothing more than a reminder of her fight with Cloud. Despite knowing it would only bring her trivial happiness, she styled her hair in loose waves and applied some makeup; the dress she had planned on got replaced for a newer one she’d stumbled on at a sale and never worn. The dark green color had attracted her attention then, and she had bought it while being aware it wasn’t one made for casual wear. She had taken it out earlier tonight, debating between the more conservative red dress she had initially picked and this one; the off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline and curve-hugging fit had won her over. But as she’d exited her apartment and glanced at Cloud’s door, her choice had felt empty and shallow. It’d been too late to go back and change, though—Vincent was already waiting outside. So Tifa had turned away and gone down the stairs, walking as fast as she could in her heels.

Vincent lets the quiet grow and be filled by the endless babbling surrounding them for a while before speaking again. “Is it because of your boyfriend?”

Tifa chokes on her sip of wine; his eyes widen in alarm at her reaction, and his hands come up as if he wants to help but doesn’t know how. She coughs as delicately as possible, too aware of the setting despite her shock. Once she can breathe again, she straightens and then, to Vincent’s apparent surprise, chugs whatever wine was left.

“Oh,” he says as he takes the empty glass she hands him. “Okay.”

Tifa feels her cheek redden under the stare of nearby people. “It’s—we’re not—”

He nods slowly like he’s absorbing the information or debating what to say next. “I thought…”

“Yeah, uh… Cloud isn’t my boyfriend.” She thought the words would hurt, but, really, she finds herself more annoyed at herself for even feeling the need to say them. The sensation brings a wave of frustration that makes her add, “We’re not anything right now.”

“I’m sorry.” Vincent’s apology sounds honest enough to pacify her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs. “It’s not your fault.” There’s a kind of irony in saying this, but she keeps it to herself—the truth is that it isn’t Vincent’s fault, and she can’t let the fight with Cloud muddle her perception.

He nods, and they both let it go for the remainder of the night. People approach them to speak with Vincent once in a while, and though he responds to the cues, Tifa can see he doesn’t care about the socializing aspect. It’s as they call for everyone to sit at the tables that Vincent signals at her to follow him. The lights dim, allowing them to escape without bringing attention to themselves; they stop at the coat check to grab their belongings before exiting the hotel and making their way through the parking.

“Are you hungry?” he asks as they slip in the car.

“Not really.” She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she ate too many appetizers out of boredom.

He pulls out of the parking spot. “That’s fine. So, home?” He waits for her to confirm. “You’re gonna have to give me directions, though.”

They fill the drive with casual chatter, and Tifa is grateful for Vincent’s clear avoidance of topics such as boyfriends and music. It’s almost comical at times; he cuts himself off whenever he talks about the piano, which happens often enough that Tifa has to hide her smirk behind her hand. Once her building comes into view, he parks in front and then turns to her.

“Thanks for accompanying me tonight.”

Tifa unbuckles her seatbelt. “It was nice.” They are both aware she’s not telling the full truth; both keep quiet about it. Her hand stills on the handle as she bids him goodnight; she doesn’t pull her hand back but looks up to give him a smile. “Thank you.”

He frowns as if understanding she’s not talking about tonight but can’t tell what else it might be. “No problem?”

“No, I mean… Thank you for what you did for me. For helping me with music and playing again.”

At this, he chuckles. “Tifa, honestly… You don’t need to thank me. You had the will this whole time.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t help revive a part of herself she thought dead. “You just needed someone to give you a push in the right direction.”

“Well, thank you for the push, then. Thank you, Vincent,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll see you at school?”

“Yeah, of course. Goodnight, Tifa.”

With a parting smile, she steps out of the car. It’s as she goes to close the door that he calls her name; she leans forward to meet his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Let me know how the progress for the Nocturne goes, will you?”

Movement in her periphery distracts her as she goes to answer; Tifa freezes when she spots Cloud walking towards the building, his attention on his phone. She realizes he must be coming home from work right as he puts the phone away and their stares meet.

There’s no hiding that she was at the event tonight; her open coat shows off her fancy attire, and her heels are another giveaway. Cloud doesn’t look down at her dress, though; instead, his eyes don’t leave her face—and that’s when she realizes he must be taking in the makeup and the wavy hair. That superficial need to feel pretty at once becomes distorted. She hadn’t meant to dress up with the concept of a date in mind—she had meant to dress up for herself—but she’s aware that this is what it must seem like to Cloud. He blinks like he isn’t sure what he sees is real and then glances away from her as he resumes walking for the building and heading inside.

For some reason, all of this makes Tifa laugh—it comes out in a loud, genuine sound, so unlike her laughter these past weeks. Vincent’s puzzled expression only fuels it. And it’s hard for her to stop suddenly; the humor builds until it’s not all that funny anymore, and she doesn’t remember what made her laugh in the first place. A thought flashes through her mind, and it’s what makes her stop at last.

Vincent sends her a worried look. “Tifa?”

It’s funny how the night ended, she thinks—it’s funny how her relationship with Cloud devolved so fast over misunderstandings and fears and unspoken jealousy, and yet there was nothing to be anxious about. The amusement fades into a twisted dejection where she can’t help but wonder if part of her _had_ been nervous and she just hadn’t wanted to see it.

“I’m okay,” she says with a forced smile. “I just…thought of something funny.” His disbelief is clear, but he doesn’t insist. “And yeah, I’ll tell you about the Nocturne. Don’t worry.”

She doesn’t wait for him to say anything; she shuts the door and strides for the building. Her heartbeat is a violent rhythm in her ears as she climbs to her floor. It’s the anticipation of what she’ll find once she reaches her door that consumes her. As she steps on the landing and looks to the right towards her door, it crashes and bursts apart.

Cloud crouches before her door, phone in hand again. He’s not looking at it, though; his stare is fixed on her, and Tifa hates how impassive his expression is. It’s the same one he used to wear when they were nothing strangers and neighbors—the notion jolts her, and she wonders if that’s what they’re meant to be in the end.

Tifa stops a few feet away from him as he gets to his feet. He stays quiet, moving to let her unlock the door; she doesn’t speak either, not willing to start something in the hallway—she doesn’t tell him to leave, though. Cloud follows her inside, still silent even as she removes her coat and hangs it up. He keeps his on like he won’t stay, and it makes her both angry and happy.

“What do you want?” Her question is soft, not at all a mirror of her turmoil.

His stare is unwavering as he replies, “The event was tonight?”

More than anything, this is the last topic Tifa wants to discuss. She hates that he’s still stuck on this, and it allows for bitterness to enter her voice. “Yes, it was.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket’s pockets. “How was it?”

“What do you want me to say, Cloud?” It comes out too loud, too resentful, but the wounds are too fresh for the outcome to be something else. “That I had a great time? That it was an amazing date?” She glares at him, fueled by his lack of reaction. “You want me to lie to you?”

“No,” he says simply. “I believe you when you say it wasn’t a date.” Despite his words, there is a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Oh, _now_ you believe me?”

Cloud closes his eyes for a second too long, and she thinks he’s trying to keep his calm. “I know it wasn’t a date.”

The unsaid lingers between them—as well as his use of past tense, as if he thinks it might have changed since their fight.

“It was never a date.” It feels like all she’s doing is repeating herself, like she’s running around looking for a way to unearth the actual problem, yet comes up short.

“I know,” Cloud says again, the vexation more obvious this time.

“Then what _is_ the fucking problem?”

He frowns as he finally tears his eyes away, and that’s when she realizes the irritation he feels is directed at himself. “Because I _know_ you’re telling the truth, but I still—I’m—”

“You’re _what_ , Cloud?” The question leaves her without thought, and she wishes she’d held it down.

The stillness of the apartment is overwhelming; they stand not far from each other, but it might as well be worlds away to Tifa. When Cloud moves, she’s not sure why she thinks he’s about to walk past her and leave—maybe because it’s what she’s afraid of, and she’d rather be afraid than hopeful. But when he reaches her, he only tilts her head back and kisses her.

There’s a certain anger to the way he takes control, backing her against the door and barely letting her breathe. He pulls back but doesn’t look at her, hiding his face in her neck and gently biting at the skin there. Tifa gasps when his hands slide along her legs and push the fabric of her dress higher and higher. Her thoughts sync with reality as she understands what is happening; her hands find their way to his shoulders, shoving his jacket away. Cloud shrugs it off the rest of the way, and it falls to the floor. Everything is happening fast, so fast, she thinks as he discards her underwear and presses his body into hers, trapping her against the door.

“Cloud—” His name is lost as he kisses her again. It’s harsh and urgent, like he’s afraid he’ll run out of time. “Cloud,” she whispers again. And then once more in a moan when his fingers brush against her, the sensation strangely too intense despite the light touch.

As if realizing the same thing, Cloud breaks away from the kiss, though his hand stays where it is. Tifa doesn’t look away from him; her jumbled mind struggles to find something to say, but he moves, kneeling in front of her; his mouth is on her before she can say anything. There is nothing soft or hesitant about it, only unrestrained need that makes her head fall back against the door. He stops suddenly, and despite herself, Tifa lets out a whine at the lack of contact.

“Yeah, I know, I know.” His mumble is almost inaudible in her haze. When he removes one of her heels and tosses it aside, she looks down to find him waiting for her stare. “It won’t hurt this way,” he says as he throws away the second shoe.

Tifa blinks once, twice—only to understand this is real right as Cloud spreads her legs wider. “Cloud—” She had meant it as a question, but it comes out as a breathy sigh when he licks her again and thrusts his fingers into her.

There’s something surreal about the moment—Tifa feels every touch like it’s a burn and all she wants is to go up in flames. Noise from the hall pierces through the fog; she hears laughter and yells, and has the faint thought it must be the students who live down the hall. Her hands tighten in Cloud’s hair when his fingers curve inside her and he sucks and nips at her in a way he knows will make her come fast and hard. Tifa’s voice rises in turn, but the awareness of the people on the other side of the door is what makes her bring her hand up to cover her mouth. The sudden absence of his mouth on her has her glance down, only to find him reaching up to tug at her arm. Her hand falls away from her face even though she could have fought his hold.

Cloud brings their intertwined hands down to her side; his eyes are on hers as he says, “Let them hear you.”

For a second, Tifa wants to protest as the laughter outside grows louder and louder, but there is a certain freedom she can’t quite name in letting her voice be heard. She doesn’t linger on the maybe’s, too lost to the hundred of sensations assailing her at once. The noise from the hall fades away, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s because they left or because her voice drowned out theirs. It doesn’t take long for her to break; her hand grips Cloud’s too tightly and too desperately, but he doesn’t stop until she pleads him to. Her pants fill the room, deafening despite the muted sounds of the city drifting in through a window she forgot to close.

Cloud frees his hand from hers; he keeps a hold on her waist as he gets to his feet, and she’s glad for it since her legs can't support her weight. He hesitates for such a short moment that Tifa almost believes she imagined it before kissing her with the same fierceness as earlier. Only there’s a desperation that wasn’t there before, like he’s trying to make her understand something, or maybe like he’s terrified of this ending—the notion of goodbye slithers between her thoughts, poisoning them. She goes to break the kiss when he pulls back. Cloud leans his forehead against hers; he keeps his eyes open, and she does the same, unwilling to be the one to look away, not right now.

“I missed you.” The way he says it is not soft to Tifa—soft doesn’t feel right for Cloud in this moment. There is too much strength behind his every move and word, too much recklessness for him to be gentle in his confession. But it’s quiet, though, so quiet that she thinks she didn’t hear him—it’s something she’s come to expect of him, though, to be bad with words and loud with his actions.

Maybe that’s why his admission hits her hard; it renders her speechless, and she thinks she can’t breathe until a sharp sob escapes her, and all the air rushes in. She doesn’t cry, not exactly—rather, it’s a noise of both relief and disbelief she can’t contain.

Cloud grabs her hand and drags her towards the back of the apartment without saying anything else; she has no option but to follow him into her bedroom. Strewn on the bed is the red dress she had considered, along with the clothes she wore most of the day; all she sees is the reminder of how she felt in the evening, of how she tried to cheer herself up. In a way, she is thankful for Cloud’s urgency as he lifts her and then drops her on the bed; he removes his shirt and boots before climbing over her.

Something about the way he pulls the neckline of her dress down and lays kisses down her chest strikes her as possessive. The grazes of his teeth against her skin are then soothed by wet kisses, but she thinks there is an insistence to his bites she’s never experienced before. Tifa rakes her hands through his hair, gripping the strands; she moans when he enters her without warning, and he groans into her neck. They both stay still for a few seconds, panting, and then he thrusts into her.

Again, she feels that greediness of his in how he cradles her face to tilt her head back so he can kiss her; in how he sits back and grips her legs with more strength than he used to, forcing her hips to meet his. Tifa’s hands clench around the covers above her head, gasps and moans escaping her. She feels her dress bunch up and wrinkle, her hair tangle from the frantic rhythm of their bodies, and she gets the impression this might be what he wants—to erase what happened before they walked into her apartment; to see her disheveled in a way no one can bear witness to.

“Please, please.” The word escapes her over and over until she comes with a cry; it feels too strong for her body to take, too intense for her heart to stay whole. Cloud curses and rests a hand on the bed, leaning over her as he comes, too. There’s that stare, she thinks again, the one that makes her hope—but this time she closes her eyes not to see it.

It takes a long moment for Cloud to move; she keeps her eyes closed as he pulls away. He keeps quiet, and she hears him shift around. Only then does she open her eyes, and even then, she keeps them on the ceiling as she waits for her breathing to even out. She sits and her state of undress hits her at once—there used to be nothing embarrassing about that around Cloud, but this was then. Now, and especially tonight, the way her dress exposes her is a reminder of too many things, and she feels vulnerability take hold of her. As she tugs the neckline up, she looks at Cloud and freezes.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He makes her think of a statue, so motionless and quiet in his contemplation. Tifa stays where she is, but he must have realized she moved because he speaks.

“I was jealous.” There’s a hint of frustration in his tone, and Tifa wonders who it’s aimed at—though she gets the hunch it’s at himself. “I’m sorry for how I acted,” he adds, softer this time. “I just… I’ve never felt this before. I didn’t realize…” He trails off as he raises his head, keeping his eyes locked on the darkness of the room. “When I said you were my friend—”

Weeks after their fight, she’s come to understand that Cloud didn’t mean it in a hurtful way. “Cloud, I—”

“Tifa, no.” The firmness of his voice is what makes her pause. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you, I was just…” He sighs, his anger shining through. “Your friendship has been invaluable to me, I don’t think you get how much.”

The statement destabilizes her while being anticipated—it’s an odd mixture of emotions that spread through her, but she chooses to keep silent, letting the turbulence settle inside her.

“I’m not sure when it started,” he says as he twists to look at her. Cloud flinches when he takes in her tousled state, but she barely notices, too focused on his words. “But you’re the only one I feel comfortable talking to about what is happening. What—” He gulps and glances away. “What I’m feeling. About Seph. About everything. Zack doesn’t even know the extent of the situation with Seph. It’s not that he wouldn’t get it, it’s just…not the same.”

“Cloud.” She carries one before he can speak over her again. “I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. I mean, I know that _now_ ,” she amends. “I’m sorry for the way I threw that in your face.”

“No, I get it,” he says, quiet and thoughtful. “I should have told you what it meant to me. But it doesn’t change what happened. I just…hate that I hurt you. Fuck,” he breathes out, “it’s the last thing I wanted.”

Though it’s tempting to slide closer to him, Tifa stays where she is. “I shouldn’t have said that stuff about you not caring or not trying. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he says, running a hand over his face. “I know you didn’t, but…” He trails off, but they both know what he was going to say—that it hurt nonetheless, that it was unfair. “And I knew you weren’t going on a date, but I was in a really bad place that day. It’s not an excuse, though. It was just too much all at once.” His hushed confession seems to take up all the space between them. “Stuff happened with Seph again that morning, you were already avoiding me, and then… I’m sorry for blowing up like that, Tifa.”

“Me too,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for running away.”

Cloud’s shoulders sag at her words, and Tifa finally moves closer, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek on his back. She hears and feels his sharp intake of breath at the contact; time seems to stretch out as she waits for him to react, and when he covers her hand with his, she tightens her hold.

“Can we just…be us, again?” There’s no ignoring how strangled he sounds, like he’s terrified she’ll say no.

It won’t be the same as before, and they both know it. The newfound honesty between is something she hadn’t dared hope for—it makes her heart swell and plummet all at once, but she doesn’t mind; it’s different kind of pain, the kind she can build on and make hers.

“Yes,” Tifa says. “We can.”

Cloud turns around, the motion slow—but whatever he sees in her expression shatters that hesitancy, and he rests his head against hers. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I promise to do better.”

“I promise, too.”

There is only the dark to bear as witness, but it’s enough—there is no better place to be sincere, she thinks as she closes her eyes.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to eternalli, Jen, Karmi, legendaryboo, and Kaya for encouragement with this chapter. Big hugs!


	12. Étude op.25 no.11 in A Minor, “Winter Wind”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Finally a short chapter," I say as I stare at the 5500 word count, my eyes wordlessly pleading for help from my own insanity.
> 
> Also, I should be packing for my move, yet here I am.  
> —  
> Étude op.25 no.11 in A Minor - Chopin

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **12:** Étude op.25 no.11 in A Minor, “Winter Wind”

—

Tifa opens her eyes to soft sunlight. It streams in through the half-closed curtains, the ones she didn't bother with last night. Sheets rustle behind her and the mattress dips; her heartbeat picks up as Cloud shifts around, and she holds in a surprised yelp when he slides her hair away to expose her neck. He runs his hand through the strands, slow and gentle, stopping as he hits a knot.

"Your hair's all tangled," he mumbles.

She gulps down the memory of last night; of his desperate kisses and greedy touches; of her carefully done hair becoming a mess because of him—just how he had wanted it. Her voice is still thick with sleep as she says, "I usually braid it before going to bed."

"I know." Cloud's admission is quiet, a reminder of the time they've spent together, but also of the weeks they were apart.

Tifa turns around to find him half-propped against the headboard; his hand retreats to his side to avoid snagging on her hair. "How long have you been up?"

"Not that long."

His phone chirps on the bedside table, and Cloud grabs it with a disgruntled sigh. Silence settles as he checks the message and types out a reply. Tifa feels the atmosphere shift, not so much from Cloud's reaction to the message, but rather from her own rising burst of anxiety. Without a word, she gets out of the bed and pads for the bathroom. She goes through her routine mechanically in hopes of regaining control of her mind, of her heart. Last night, they went to sleep without talking things out in details; exhaustion had slammed into them both, and they had chosen to let whatever was between them float unresolved and unspoken. Though Tifa finds defining what they are doesn't matter as much as she thought it would have, she still needs stronger reassurance.

When she walks back into the bedroom, Cloud's phone is back on the table; he watches her grab her hairbrush, then climb into the bed and sit next to him. Tifa says nothing as well, wanting him to make the first move. It's only once a minute of quiet has passed that he speaks.

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

Tifa keeps her hands steady as she brushes out the knots in her hair. "About what exactly?"

In answer, he strokes his fingers along the skin of her chest exposed by her tank top. Tifa knows he's looking at the marks he left last night; they're faint and few, but there nonetheless. She doesn't have the heart to tell him there are two more on her breasts, hidden by the fabric.

"I acted like a jealous asshole," he says softly. The reprimand is heavy in his voice, something she had expected.

"You _were_ being a jealous asshole."

His fingers spread as if to cover as much skin as possible, and his thumb brushes the base of her throat. Part of her thinks he doesn't want to look at the marks; the other senses the covetous nature of the gesture, like he has to be the only one to see them. When his hand slips away, a slight tinge of disappointment runs through her.

"You're right." He gives her a slight, apologetic smile.

"So…" Tifa focuses on brushing her hair to help hide the tension she feels. "What happens now?"

He shifts lower on the bed until he's almost laying down; he caresses the sliver of skin between her top and her shorts, his eyes fixated on his hand like he doesn't want to look at her—but Tifa has a hunch it isn't the case. Rather, she thinks he does it to gather his courage; she can't say if that's good or bad, though, and the doubt creeping in makes her still.

"What do you want to happen?" The way he asks her is careful, but not in a way that scares her.

"I want to be with you," she says. Though her hair is still somewhat tangled, she puts the brush down. Pretending to concentrate on something else than their conversation feels too dishonest.

"What you said…" He doesn't specify it, but they both know he's talking about the secret she blurted out during their fight. "You meant it?"

Tifa inhales, then exhales. "Yes."

Cloud is silent at first, but it doesn't worry her; she has the stray thought that maybe it should. They've known each other for long enough now that she understands the way he thinks—and how he needs time to choose his words. When his arm wraps around her waist to have her lean over him, Tifa doesn't dare breathe in case it shatters the moment.

"Come here," he says, quiet and gentle.

She follows along with his cues until she hovers over him, her face inches away from his, her hair cascading around them and cocooning them in soft darkness.

"I want to be with you, too." His confession is hushed, meant for her only, the words trapped within the walls they've built together—there's a certain safety they've found in each other, she thinks. It's something they maybe never sought but instead stumbled upon, and Tifa finds relief in the idea of a sanctuary they made for themselves and only themselves.

"Okay," she whispers. A fear settles inside her, but it's the good kind—she doesn't want to break away from him, from them because the alternative is too scary.

Cloud smiles, pleased and a little shy, before kissing her. It's a quiet kiss, one where there are no more storms raging, no more blurred lines and indecision—there are only calm seas filled with unsaid words and a silence of their own.

"Can I spend the day here?" he asks when they part.

Maybe it's the hopeful note in his voice, or maybe it's the unsure glint in his gaze—Tifa can't decide—but she finds herself unable to deny him, even if she had wanted to. "Yeah, of course."

The remainder of the morning flies past; it's filled with softness and laziness, laughter and music. Once they sit down to study, Tifa realizes she loves the comfort between them in a way she couldn't have before; it must be the flow of honesty that makes this tranquility grounding and surreal at once. There are no other words to describe how this feels to her—she could almost believe it's a dream.

It's in the late afternoon that she realizes something. She observes Cloud as he walks into her bedroom—he mentioned needing a distraction-free environment for this part of his assignment, and though she hadn't protested, it had been tempting to ask him _what_ was distracting him. Curiosity gets the better of her after a while, making it difficult for her to concentrate on her own studies; Tifa puts her textbook and laptop aside and heads into the bedroom. Cloud sits cross-legged on her bed, his computer in his lap; headphones render him unaware of his surroundings, and his eyes don't leave the screen. He barely glances her way when she sits on the edge of the bed next to him; he removes the headphones at her pointed stare.

"Yeah?"

His casual greeting doesn't convince Tifa; if anything, it makes her more intrigued. "Are you alright?"

The way his eyes dart to the marks on her chest and then away from her lets her know he's lying as he replies, "Yeah, I just need to focus."

"Uh-uh." She waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Cloud nods as he puts the headphones back on. Tifa hesitates for a second before standing; as she goes to cross the doorway, she looks over her shoulder just in time to see him lower his head as if caught. The urge to comment on this almost has her twist around, but she goes back into the living room to sit on the couch. Her open textbook on the coffee table is a reminder she needs to study, and yet, she closes it.

Ever since they've started sleeping with each other, she's never known Cloud to be the type to keep his hands to himself. And she thinks the problem might be the newfound definition of their relationship—it's something Cloud doesn't understand, and he's afraid of acting like before, like when they pretended to be nothing more than friends. His reluctance irks her but also reassures her; it's the proof that he _does_ want to do better—and yet, it does nothing but sow doubt in her mind.

Tifa stares ahead of her, her thoughts jumbled as she debates what to do. An idea hits her, and before she can overthink it, she jumps to her feet. Cloud doesn't react beyond a quick glance when she walks back inside the bedroom, and she ignores him, heading for her dresser. It takes her seconds to find what she was searching for, and she's out of the room as quickly as she came in. Once in the bathroom, Tifa lets out a long exhale; the closed door against her back serves as a barrier between the world and her, allowing her to relax. As the tension leaves her body, she pads to the sink and takes in her reflection.

Not feeling like dealing with the leftover tangles in her hair, she weaves a loose and messy braid—this is just to avoid making the knots worse. Her cropped, oversized tank top is enticing enough on its own, she thinks, the low neckline showcasing the top of her breasts—and the marks Cloud can't fully pretend to regret. Tifa steps out of the leggings she'd put on earlier and throws them aside. She stands before the mirror in her top and underwear, taking a second to debate her plan. Seducing Cloud seems like the most harmless thing considering everything they've done together—but there's an unknown element to their relationship that makes her believe she could be wrong about this. Tifa doesn't let herself doubt for long, though; she slips on the black thigh highs she'd grabbed and whirls around.

When she enters the bedroom this time, Cloud doesn't look up, but she doesn't let it deter her; he is studying after all, and for some reason, this makes her actions all the sweeter. Tifa stands still for a second, giving herself one last chance to back out—then climbs on the bed. The movement alerts him, and he raises his head. Tifa would have laughed at the strangled noise of surprise he lets out as she crawls towards him, but her attention is on his eyes as they track her every move.

She stops just shy of touching him as he takes off the headphones; the laptop is what remains between them. With a slight but wicked smile, Tifa asks, "Did you save your assignment?"

He nods, and she closes the laptop; Cloud puts it and the headphones aside but doesn't budge from his spot. It's almost a challenge to her at this point, and Tifa would be lying if she said it didn't exhilarate her—though there's a healthy dose of nervousness, the thrill drowns it out. She closes the remaining distance, caging him against the headboard as she straddles his lap; his hands come up to encircle her waist like he didn't have to think twice about it, and she counts that as a small victory despite his otherwise unnatural stillness.

"Tifa—"

"Why won't you touch me?" she cuts him off softly.

He gulps, and she feels the way his hands tighten on her for a second before he relaxes them. "I don't want you to think that…" His voice trails off when she leans forward until she could kiss him.

"Think what?"

"That it's all there is now," he says, not looking away from her.

Tifa bites her lip to contain an amused smile; she runs her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, stopping when she feels his heartbeat beneath her palm, the pause too long to be accidental. "I know that."

There's an exhilarating kind of satisfaction coursing through when she senses his heart drum faster—it's the knowledge that she isn't alone in this that makes her bold and eager. She grasps both of his hands in hers, forcing them to slide up and up below her top, halting right under her breasts. While she wants nothing more than to bring them higher and to kiss him, she needs him to be the one to cross the invisible line. His fingers twitch against her when she lets go of his hands, but they stay wrapped around her ribcage, warm and welcome.

"I'm telling you it's okay."

A quiet noise escapes him; it sounds a little desperate and a little indecisive, but mostly full of yearning. She notes the way his gaze drifts to the marks on her chest once more; it's only a fleeting look, something she would have dismissed if not for the other occurrences.

"Yesterday," he says, slow and hesitant, "I should have been—"

"Yesterday is already gone, Cloud." Tifa leans forward, nearly closing the remaining distance; the movement causes his hands to shift, and he swallows a groan. "I _want_ you to touch me." She almost holds down her next words; perhaps it's the headiness of the moment or the honesty they've just developed last night—it doesn't matter, really—that kindles her need for him to hear them. "I'm happy right now. I want to drown in that. I want to—" She bites her lip.

"What do you want?" It's the silk of his voice, dragging soft and heavy against her skin, that tells her she's won and gives her the courage to carry on.

"I want to drown in you," she whispers. "And I want you to drown in me."

There is a second of silence where she regrets what she said—regrets being honest in a way she's never been before, not with herself or others. But his fingers dig against her ribs, the almost-painful pressure proof of his yielding—and Cloud brings her closer and into him. In a way, Tifa finds his kiss cruel—it's full of that desperation and yearning she heard earlier, like he can't have enough of her, and fuck, she doesn't want him to ever have enough.

His hands glide down her back and below her panties, over her ass, pushing her hips to meet his again and again. Tifa moans, the sound swallowed in their kiss before breaking away. The way he stares at her as she sways in his lap, dazed and heavy-lidded, is enough to make her believe he's as drunk on her as she is on him.

"This isn't enough," she breathes out. Despite her words, she doesn't stop the movement of her hips, doesn't stop gazing back at him.

"What would be enough?" Cloud kisses her, biting her lip gently as he pulls back. "Why don't you tell me?"

It would be easier for her to hide her face as she answers; to whisper the words in his ear to avoid shyness overtaking her—but the challenge beckons her this time, and she wants nothing more than to show him she needs this and she needs him.

"You touching me." She notices the barely-there smirk forming on his lips, and as he goes to speak, she cuts him off, knowing he would have asked her to elaborate. "Making me come." Tifa drops her hands on his shoulder, her grip tight from the tension building within her.

At her words, his fingers flex on the curve of her ass. "Isn't that what I'm doing?" Cloud leans down to lick one mark then another then one more; his lips drift lower, and her nails dig in the muscles of his shoulders when he drags his tongue over a nipple through the fabric.

"Yes," she says, and it leaves her in a whine. "But I want you to use your fingers and your mouth, too." Cloud looks up at her as if shocked by what she said, but she doesn't think that's what it is; the delighted sparkle in his gaze gives him away, emboldening her. "Then I want you to fuck me."

He whispers her name as she tugs at his shirt to remove it, then discards her own. Her gasp echoes in the space between them when he twists her around so she sits in the cradle of his legs, her back to his front.

"Take those off." The words are almost lost, muffled by her heart beating fast and loud.

"What, the thigh highs?" she teases, resting her head on his shoulder. "I thought you loved those." She's not sure why she's surprised when he retaliates by slipping one hand in her underwear, his still fingers taunting her.

"Not the thigh highs." Cloud gently bites her shoulder as if to chastise her.

He waits for her to slide her panties down; the second she drops them over the edge of the bed, he grabs both of her thighs, spreading her legs. Tifa goes to protest when he places them over his so she can't close them, but she reminds herself this is what she asked—for him to touch her in so many ways. There's something definitely indecent about being exposed like this; it's a thrill that only exponentiates when Cloud's hands glide over her thighs, stopping to caress the skin showing above the thigh highs.

"You good?" he mumbles in her hair. When she nods, he lets out a quiet laugh, his breath tickling her cheek. "I love having you like this for me." Her breathing picks up at his words, and in answer, his hold on her thighs draws taut, fingers digging into the soft skin. "You love it, too, don't you?"

"Uh-uh." It's little more than a sigh, but Cloud hears her.

"Lift your hips a little, yeah?" She does, and one of his hands moves to cup her; Tifa can't contain her whimper at the insistence of his lazy touch—and really, she finds she doesn't care for that anymore, liking the idea of him hearing all he does to her. "You're so wet already, fuck." Cloud tilts her head back with his free hand, just enough to see her face. "Hey, look at me," he says right as he slips two fingers into her. Tifa moans at the sudden sensation but keeps her eyes on his; his satisfied smile is hard to miss. "Good girl," he whispers, his lips brushing her ear. Despite herself, Tifa feels a wave of warmth at the praise, and Cloud chuckles when she clenches down on his fingers. "That's it."

There's something different about him, she thinks as he releases her chin and runs his hand down her chest—something she can't name honestly, maybe because part of her is still scared by all this. Cloud ghosts his knuckles over her nipple before grasping her breast, the slight roughness of the gesture contrasting with the barely-there stroke that made her sigh. And again, she wonders if she's not imagining this fierceness and candor to his touch. He drops his head until his lips are on her neck, not dropping kisses but resting there as if the contact is one he can't do without.

"Cloud—" she breathes out. Her head lolls back against his shoulder as her legs tense in anticipation. "You—you don't— _ah_ —" Tifa lets out a low whine as she comes on his hand, the words she meant to say forgotten. Her gasped "Fuck," as Cloud keeps fingering her sounds too loud despite being hushed. Her nails stab half-moons in his arm like she would stop him but they both know it's not what she wants. "Wait, wait—ah, _fuck_."

"That's it, Tifa," he says, making her breathing hitch. "Once more."

"Cloud, please, please—" Her whispers are broken by a moan when he bears down on her clit with the palm of his hand. "Stop, Cloud—"

"Hm? You really want that?" The knowing tone of his question betrays his amusement.

Her hips move on their own as if to answer for her, and she feels her body tightening again already as it rides the previous wave of her climax. Still, Tifa forces the words out. "You don't have—ah, to do this."

She can sense his lips curve in a smile against her skin. "What, making you come?"

"Apologize," she pants, her nails digging deeper into his arm. "That's what you're—doing. Ah, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —" Her gasps trail off into whimpers when he only thrusts harder and faster into her. "I know why you're—" Her eyes close on their own, the pleasure he gives her too much all of a sudden. "I know you," she whispers, her voice husky and a little desperate. "I know you, I—"

His every move becomes wild at once, bringing her closer to the edge. "Let me do this." The roughness coloring his words makes her believe the same desperation grabbed hold of him. "Please, Tifa."

She wants to object, but it becomes impossible as she comes again; the intensity of her climax coaxes a muted shout out of her as Cloud draws it out until her legs shake and she cries out. It's only then that awareness returns to her, and she takes in the wetness of Cloud's hand as it rests on her thigh; the twilight drifting in from outside, warming the world they hid in for the day; the heaviness of her eyes and the indolent way her head hangs on his shoulder; and the brush of his lips against her ear as he says, "Remember I know you, too."

Her pants fill the room, deafening in its silence. Cloud rubs his hands up and down her body, from her arms, around her stomach, along her thighs—it's a gentle, grounding touch, and she allows herself to bask in it for a moment. Tifa groans in relief when he takes hold of her legs and places them back in front of her; she hadn't realized how stiff the muscles had become.

"Thank you," she mumbles.

"We're not done." He chuckles when she twists around to give him a wry look. "You asked for my mouth. And then for me to fuck you."

"I can't—"

"Oh yes, you can," Cloud says softly. He bends forward, forcing her to lean back and onto the bed until he hovers over her. "I'll make you come again." He kisses her, harsh and demanding. "And again."

Tifa rests on her elbows, watching him as he discards his underwear. "You're terrible."

Cloud smirks, kneeling between her legs and then covering her body with his. "Are you really complaining?"

His kiss swallows her reply, and she sighs into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck, her hands burying themselves in his hair. When he forces her legs up and out, then pushes into her, Tifa bites her lip at the overload of sensations.

"What do you want?" Cloud asks as he stays still. "You told me before."

"No." His surprise at her protest is obvious, and she lets him stew a second or two, relishing his reaction. "It's my turn to ask," she says, mirth and desire mixing in her voice. "What do _you_ want?"

"You little—" He cuts himself off, laughing, and Tifa smiles. There's a moment where he stares at her—at the marks on her chest, she realizes when he presses his hand against the skin there, spreading his fingers to cover them. "I want to fuck you until you can't take it anymore."

His absent-minded tone makes her believe he means something else but doesn't dare admit it. "Is that all?"

Cloud slams into her without warning, drawing a cry out of her. "No. Fuck, no." He keeps his cruel rhythm up, spreading her legs further.

"Ah—tell me, please, please—" Her request gets lost amongst her pleas, and she lets out a whine when he lets go of one of her legs to stroke her clit with his thumb. "Don't—I can't—" When he doesn't stop and only lightens the pressure, Tifa throws her head back, bringing close to the edge of the bed; she scrambles to grab unto something, anything to ground her but only finds the covers beside her.

"Fuck yeah, you can," he rasps. "I want to feel you, Tifa." She has nothing but pants and moans as an answer for him. "That's what I want."

It hits her hard and at once, his words fueling her need; her back arches off the bed, and she faintly feels Cloud pull out. Tifa twists on her side as her climax carries on, demanding and draining—she barely registers Cloud spreading her open again and leaning down to lick her. It's too much, too intense for both her heart and her body to take—he draws it out, his tongue flattening against her, and this time a short, stifled scream leaves her. Cloud eases away, his hands stroking her side and her back as she catches her breath; she grips the cover still, as if afraid to let go.

Cloud brushes his lips along the curve of her back and up towards her shoulders. "You good?"

She lets her eyes drift closed. "Give me a second."

"Just rest, okay?"

Tifa senses his presence fade, the surrounding air feeling cold and incomplete. She whines in protest, making him pause. "No, you didn't—" Though part of her wants never to have to move again, she pushes up on her knees and opens her eyes, finding Cloud still close but about to get out of the bed. "Your turn."

"It's fine, alright?" He tucks strands of her hair behind her ear; she seizes his hand before he can bring it back to his side, and tugs until he's near. She gives him a slight push so he falls back against the headboard. "Tifa—"

Two can play the game, and she says, "I want this for you," before taking him in her mouth, eliciting a loud groan from him. Cloud reflexively holds her head, and for a moment, she thinks he'll make her break away, but he only tangles his hands in her hair, messing up her braid. Tifa can feel the tension that built in his body about to release, the shallow thrusts of his hips another giveaway. She takes him as deep as she can, relaxing her jaw, and swallows around him, aware of how much he likes that.

" _Fuck_ ," he hisses out over and over again as he comes. His hands tighten in her hair, almost painfully but not enough to make her pull away—not until he's done and his hold on her slackens. "Tifa, fuck, you're so—" His words fade into pants as he sags against the headboard.

Despite her exhaustion and the soreness of her body, Tifa can't help but laugh. "You're one to talk," she says as she lets herself fall on the bed. She turns her head to gaze at him and smiles. "It's never enough, is it?"

Cloud reaches out, brushing hair out of her face. "Just with you." Before she can reply, he slides down on the bed to lie on his side facing her.

"Hey," she whispers.

"Hey." Cloud smiles. "I like this."

Tifa lets out a soft chuckle. "Fucking me until I can't take it anymore?"

"Yeah, but that's not what I meant." His arm wraps around her, and he tucks her against his chest.

"I know," Tifa says, tilting her head back to look at him.

"Smartass," he mumbles. "Get some rest for real, alright?"

"Uh-uh." She snorts, then scoots closer to him. "Pretty sure I can't walk, anyway."

Though he says nothing, Tifa senses his satisfaction in the way his hold on her strengthens. It's almost dark, she realizes as her body grows heavy, and she had so many things to do, and yet she can't regret the day fading away.

—

It rains the afternoon Tifa forgets her phone and has to turn back to get it. By the time she's walked from her car to her building, her clothes are drenched. Annoyed at both herself and the weather, she doesn't pay much attention to her surroundings—that's why she doesn't immediately notice the man standing in front of Cloud's door. It's only as she's about to unlock her door that she spots him. And it's his faint familiarity that startles her, like she's seen him before, but so quickly that she didn't bother remembering who he was. He leans against the door as if waiting, hands in his pockets in a casual posture. When he raises his head and Tifa takes in his long, tied-back hair and sharp features, she blinks out of surprise.

It's Seph, she realizes, and he must be waiting for Cloud. Before she knows it, Tifa approaches him; she halts a few feet away, noting his displeased expression.

"Sorry," she says, awkwardness seeping into her voice, "but are you Seph?"

He frowns but straightens away from the door. "Friend of Cloud's?"

Tifa nods, not wanting to bother explaining her newfound relationship with Cloud to his brother. "We're also neighbors. He's mentioned you a few times," she says as he stays silent.

"Oh, I see." Seph's frown vanishes, and he gives her a smile. Though she can't say why exactly, something about his smile has her stomach twists into knots. "Nice to meet you, then."

"Yes, likewise." Tifa shuffles her feet, unsure of what she should do. "Cloud should be coming back soon," she says.

"Okay, that's good to know."

It strikes her that, from his words, Seph can't have known when Cloud would get home. The thought that he would have waited until his brother got back makes Tifa nervous. "Do you want to wait—"

"Seph?"

Tifa whirls around at Cloud's confused voice to see him walking towards them.

"Hey," Seph says with a tight smile. It's not like the one he gave her, Tifa thinks—this is an honest smile, and the strain of it is obvious this time. "Thought I'd drop by."

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Cloud shakes his head as if unsure if he's dreaming, then comes closer to unlock the door. "Go in, I just need to speak with Tifa for a second."

Seph nods, giving her a look she can't decipher. But it morphs into that same politeness he displayed earlier. "Nice meeting you," he says before walking inside.

Cloud shuts the door behind his brother but doesn't let go of the handle. He takes a deep breath, but the tautness of his body lets Tifa know something is wrong.

"You didn't know he was coming?" Her question is useless considering the reaction he had to his brother's presence, but she needs to break the tension.

"No. I'm not—" Cloud sighs and finally turns around to face her. "We had a fight two days ago. Again."

She doesn't remind him he's told her before, sensing this isn't the right move. "Yeah?"

"I'm just…" He lowers his voice and walks up to her. "This is getting difficult. I don't know what to do anymore. I want to help, but he won't let me."

"This is an opportunity." Tifa takes his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Talk to him. Make him understand you want to help."

"Yeah…"

"Come on, he's waiting." She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him; there is no surprise when he deepens the kiss, like he wants to get lost in her. But Tifa knows him well enough—in the two weeks since the event, she's noticed his tendency to run away from his troubles. She breaks away a little, dropping a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Cloud nods and with a sigh, turns on his heels to walk into his apartment. Though she knows she should leave, Tifa can't help but stay still for a minute. She's not sure why she feels the need—it must be her worry for Cloud, she thinks, but something deep inside tells her that's not all there is. As she goes to grab her phone and heads back outside, she strains her ears, like she's afraid to miss some sound that might tell her enough. When she gets into her car—she brought an umbrella this time—Tifa realizes the stress of the encounter persists within her.

It's only once she's arrived at the university that she understands what she feels is fear.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand those who listened to the piece at the start of the chapter and got confused by the mood.
> 
> Again, big hugs to Kaya, Jen, Karmi, legendaryboo, Max and eternalli for the constant encouragement, wheeee. You can find me here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans).


	13. Prélude Op.32 No.10 in B Minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all, we're entering the last stretch. 
> 
> I do think it's worth listening to the piece as you go along with the chapter for the atmosphere it brings. And I recommend Richter's interpretation.
> 
> —  
> Prélude op.32 no.10 - Rachmaninoff

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

**13:** Prélude Op.32 No.10 in B Minor

—

The voices rising beyond the door seem too loud to Tifa. They have to be for her to hear them over the suffocating beat of her heart. Her hand hangs in the air, ready to knock to let Cloud know she's here—unannounced but hopefully not unwelcome. When she does knock, it cuts through the cacophony of her heartbeat, and she realizes the voices weren't that loud after all.

Cloud doesn't seem surprised to see her standing there; he gives her a small smile, something that tells her it's not going too well, but it's also not going terribly.

"I just wanted to see how it went," Tifa says, voice low, "but I'll go back since he's still here."

"No, it's fine." Cloud gestures at her to walk in, and she does after a slight hesitation. "Sit with us for a bit."

The way his hand drops between her shoulders, heavy and a little forceful, makes her think he doesn't want to be alone with his brother, so she nods and follows his lead into the living room. Seph stares without a word as she takes a seat on the couch next to Cloud. It's a reflex to keep a certain distance between them, and Cloud doesn't appear to mind that she did. Tifa crosses her legs, smoothing out the fabric of her jeans even if there is no need; Seph's unblinking look brings out latent nervousness.

"Hello again," he says. There's that same polite smile that makes her wary. "Tifa, right?"

She nods. "Sorry for intruding."

"You're good," Cloud interjects before his brother can speak.

The tension in his body is palpable to Tifa; without thinking, she reaches out, dropping a hand on his arm. It's impossible for her to ignore how Seph's eyes track her movement—Tifa raises her gaze in a burst of defiance, feeling like there is a challenge to respond to. But Seph only blinks and then smiles; Tifa reflexively tightens her grip on Cloud's arm.

"You guys go to university together?" Seph waits for Tifa's confirmation before adding, "What do you study?"

"Sociology," she says as she brings her hand back to her side. "Graduating next year."

"Oh, I see."

Next to her, Cloud stiffens and takes a deep breath; it's obvious the comment bothered him, but she can't see why until Seph speaks again.

"Cloud is graduating in a few months."

"Yes," Tifa says, her wariness clear. She remembers how Cloud said his brother would make remarks that seemingly came out of nowhere—words with jagged edges that took you by surprise.

"Do you want something to drink?"

Cloud's sudden question startles her, and it takes her a second to understand he was addressing her. "Just some water, please."

He stands and walks into the kitchen; he's not far enough to be truly alone, but Tifa can tell he needs the small distance. The way Seph mentioned his brother's upcoming graduation felt confrontational—or at least that's the first impression Tifa got. But something about the glimpse of sadness in his expression as he watched Cloud get up makes her think that's not what it was, not really. Still, she finds it difficult to bring it up, especially with Cloud near enough to overhear. She keeps silent instead—so does Seph. The only noise comes from the kitchen as Cloud does everything he can to stall; when he comes back and hands her the glass, Tifa thanks him. Awkwardness settles as Cloud doesn't sit and heads in the back of the apartment without a word; his bedroom door shuts behind him, and she blinks the confusion away.

"He's not happy I'm here," Seph says after a moment. He smiles again, but there is no pretense now, and Tifa notices the weariness he tried so hard to hide before. "We don't get along that well."

Tifa nods then takes a sip of water; she puts the glass down on the coffee table. "I know. He's told me."

"I wager he's told you a lot."

"Yes," she says since there is no point in hiding it. It's obvious Seph caught unto the situation on his own.

He falls back into the armchair. "Then you know we're not close."

"Yes," she says again. Her hands clench in her lap, and she folds them together to hide their tension; that frightful sensation builds in her chest again.

Faint noise echoes from the bedroom, drawers slamming shut like Cloud is searching for something.

"I'm not his favorite person, to be honest." Seph's eyes dart towards the back of the apartment, then back to Tifa.

She figures it's the anxiety rising within her that makes the words leave her unbidden, like she'll choke on them otherwise. "That doesn't mean he doesn't care." A sort of desperation to make him understand grabs her, something she can't explain or can't control. "You don't know how worried he's been."

"Oh, I know," Seph says, voice soft.

A door opens, and she turns her head to see Cloud walk back to them; he hands something to Seph—a small photo album, Tifa realizes. Seph doesn't open it, only gives his brother a smile.

"Thank you. Mom will be happy to have that back."

"I don't know why she didn't ask me before," Cloud says, annoyance shining through.

When he sits at the end of the couch and leans back to rest his head in her lap, Tifa holds in her surprise—not at the display of affection, but rather at the casual nature of it. The look he sends her is filled with exhaustion—Tifa runs her fingers through his hair to let him know it's alright, and he closes his eyes.

"You didn't tell me you were dating," Seph says.

Though the statement seems addressed to Cloud, she has a feeling it's meant for her as she remembers their previous meeting in the hall.

Cloud sighs. "Seph, this is my girlfriend, Tifa. Tifa, this is my brother Sephiroth, but we call him Seph cause that's a mouthful."

She rolls her eyes at his attitude, earning a chuckle from his brother. "Don't be a dick."

"It's fine, Tifa." Seph opens the photo album and browses through a few pages as he speaks. "Cloud's always been a little shit."

"Fuck you, Seph." There is no animosity in Cloud's voice.

Tifa stays quiet as the chatter carries on; the tension that had blanketed them fades away, allowing her to breathe. She doesn't miss cues, speaking when prompted, but there's something about Seph's attitude that has her hold back. It's hard to say why exactly—she figures it's the unusualness of his visit. Maybe that's why she gets this weird sensation in her chest—this strange feeling that she's intruding on something she shouldn't be, like she should let Cloud enjoy his time with his brother. She's on the verge of leaving when Seph stands up; the movement is abrupt, taking them by surprise.

"I have a long drive ahead of me, so I should leave," Seph says. His clipped tone makes Cloud frown, though he doesn't comment on it. "Sorry for dropping unannounced."

Cloud gets up as well. "It's fine." He clears his throat, shuffles his feet, messes up his hair. "I'm glad you came."

His nervousness is vibrant and impossible to miss; Tifa wishes she could look away, but something deep within her tells her she shouldn't.

Seph keeps quiet for a second too long, exponentiating Cloud's edginess, but then speaks. "Me too."

The softness in his voice seems to startle Cloud—but it only makes Tifa's heart beat faster and faster, like she's waiting for something to happen and yet can't see _what_ it would be. When Seph turns his eyes on her, Tifa chokes on the mindless parting words that had been crawling up her throat; the intensity of his gaze worries her, though she can't say why—as far as she knows, there's nothing to be scared about, isn't there?

"It was nice meeting you, Tifa." Seph gives her a smile—a real one, Tifa realizes, because there's that sadness and weariness again. He glances in between his brother and her, and when he says, "Take care of each other," she hears the unsaid _take care of him_ ring in her ears.

"Yes, of course," she says, unsure what else she could say. Tifa is about to get to her feet when Seph moves towards the front of the apartment and away from her. "Have a safe drive back," she adds instead.

Seph pauses as he grabs his coat and then nods. "Thanks."

As Cloud passes by her to join his brother, Tifa can't help but turn around in her seat to watch them. There's something definitely impolite about witnessing their goodbye, but that fear gnaws at her still, and the urge is too strong to fight. She keeps her gaze on them as they speak in hushed voices; if she's glad for one thing, it's that she can't overhear them, their semblance of privacy respected. When Cloud wraps his brother in a hug, Seph freezes, his arms at his sides; it takes a moment for him to return the embrace. The fierceness of it is what makes Tifa look away—right as Seph brings his eyes up to hers. It makes her feel like she got caught, and her heartbeat accelerates in answer, as if she can only wait for the consequences of her actions to befall her. But nothing happens, of course—Seph and Cloud part, and with one more goodnight, Seph walks out of the door.

To her dismay, Tifa finds that she can't breathe any easier now that he's gone. If anything, it gets worse as Cloud comes back to sit next to her. When a phone sounds to indicate a new message, she jumps and only relaxes once Cloud tells her Zack is an idiot and considering pranking Reno again.

As they eat a quick dinner, they don't talk about Seph, and Tifa can't say if she's relieved or disappointed; the indecisiveness eats at her heart until it hollows enough that it can't beat properly anymore, and she can't take it, she has to say something.

"How did it go with Seph while I was gone?" Her question comes out of nowhere, interrupting Cloud as he talks about his assignment due in two days. His confused stare doesn't deter her; her grip on her fork tightens, and for a second, she feels like she'll puke from the anxiety drumming through her. "You didn't seem happy when I got here."

Cloud blinks a few times as if he needs a moment to digest the change in topic; he takes a gulp of water, and she has the stray thought that he must have wanted something stronger. "He just makes me nervous sometimes. I can't always tell if he means well, and most of the time I get it wrong, so we argue. Like that comment he made about me graduating before you. It felt like he wanted to start a fight with me."

"I don't think that was it," Tifa blurts out. In the back of her mind, she realizes she should shut up, that it's none of her business. And yet... "I think he's trying to look out for you in his own way."

"Look out for me?" Cloud's voice seems too loud, filling the small space between them; the muffled noise of the TV blares in her ears. "That makes no sense."

"Why not?" She speaks before she can think, her reaction instinctive. "He's your brother."

Cloud opens his mouth to reply but is cut off by his phone ringing; he sighs before getting up to grab the phone. It's only once he's answered the call and she hears him say, "No, I can't come in tomorrow, I have plans," that she breathes again. She unclasps her hand and holds back a wince; her nails dug into her palm, deep enough to leave marks.

His call ended, Cloud comes back to the table, but to her surprise, he doesn't sit; instead, he gathers his plate and heads for the sink. She watches him for a moment, taking in his brusque movements, his edgy silence.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she says as she joins him with her plate.

Cloud takes it from her hands despite her protests. "You barely ate anything."

It's tempting to tell him she's anxious, but the lack of explanation for that same anxiety is what stops her—it frustrates her that she can't figure it out, and that only worsens the discomfort.

"I wasn't that hungry." The lie comes out flat and easy to see through, but Tifa can't be bothered to try harder; it's far from being a priority right now.

Thankfully, Cloud doesn't push. He cleans the plate and puts it to dry on the rack. Tifa stays next to him the whole time; there's a sinking feeling in her stomach that makes her believe she can't move away—can't stray far because then something might happen.

"I have to finish my assignment," Cloud says once he's done. He wipes his hands, then puts the towel back; she can't help but think that he's avoiding her eyes.

The implications of his statement engulf her, and she steps back towards the living room. "Okay, I'll leave you to it, then."

"That's not—" Cloud sighs and rubs his forehead. "I wasn't saying that so you'd leave. You can stay as long as you want. I just have to focus on that."

"Alright," she whispers, relief washing over her. "I have studying to do, too."

They both settle to work—Tifa sits at the desk while he takes the couch. The silence that falls once the TV is turned off is oppressing; Tifa hears her own heart, its beat drowning out her concentration—the _thump thump thump_ of it scares and overwhelms her. She stares at the time ticking away on her computer, and as it goes on and on, it feels like someone took scissors to her heart and she's about to vomit what's left of it.

It's when the clock hits 22:58 that she can't take it anymore—can't stand looking at the seconds flying away from her. She stands up, and the sudden move startles Cloud, who looks up and removes his headphones.

"You okay?"

Again, she finds it easier to lie than to admit to unexplained agitation. "Yeah. I'm going to sleep."

As she walks past him towards his bedroom, Cloud grabs her hand, halting her. "Tifa—what's wrong?"

"Just—" She gulps, swallowing down the stream of words threatening to come out—tears prickle her eyes at the frustration growing within her. "Just feeling weird tonight. I'll sleep it off." Tifa pulls her hand away, afraid he'll feel its tremors. "Goodnight."

She's gone before he can say anything more, and it's only with the door to the bathroom between them that she exhales. Going through her nightly routine is mindless and a needed distraction that doesn't last long enough. It's cold in the bedroom, and she lays below the covers, bringing them up to her neck. The noise from the street rises and falls, a song she tries to get lost to without success.

Tifa isn't sure what she had expected—for the dark to soothe her maybe, or for the distance to remind her everything is fine, that she's panicking over nothing. But, really, nothing changes, and instead, she's left alone to wither from the poison of her anxiety. Her eyes stay fixed on a spot next to the window, in between the curtains and the bookcase; there's nothing to look at, but the constant becomes calming after a while—that is, until her gaze wanders to the left and unto a shelf. There is the usual mess of books and trinkets and CDs found on every bookcase Cloud owns—but there is also a picture in a frame, one she's seen before but never paid attention to. It's Cloud and his family, that she knows now. The dimness makes it hard to discern; there's only the light from the door being slightly ajar. But the more she looks at it, unfocused and hesitant, the more it seems to sharpen.

There's a woman who must be their mother in the middle, surrounded by her three sons—Cloud on her left, and who she guesses is Denzel on her right. Behind her, over her shoulder and closest to Cloud, is Seph; he towers over them, making him hard to ignore. From afar, it's impossible to see more, but still, Tifa gets the impression that he is not where he wants to be. Perhaps it's the distance he put between himself and the others—but then again, she notices as she gets out of bed and pads to the bookcase, he stands near Cloud, like he _does_ want to be there. And she thinks—maybe it's that he doesn't know _how_ to be there. To be with the world and his family.

Tifa picks up the frame, smoothing the dust away from the glass. There is not enough light, but she doesn't dare to turn the bedside lamp on—it seems so much more apt to have these thoughts and these fears in the darkness.

Her fingers linger over Cloud's face; his expression is his typical one, a little disinterested and a little annoyed—but the love he holds for them shines through nonetheless, and she would have smiled at his cool facade on any other day. His little brother, Denzel, smiles at the camera—he can't be much older than thirteen on the picture, and yet there's a kindness and maturity around him that makes Tifa's shoulders loosen. Their mother is blonde like Cloud and has soft eyes like Denzel—she also has a smile that reminds Tifa of Seph, full of weariness and sort of sad, but genuine even so.

It's Seph, again, who startles Tifa. It's his eyes, she realizes at last—there's something almost cruel to them. She remembers all the discussions she had with Cloud about his brother—about how he wouldn't accept help, yet still sought it out. And they come back slowly, all the words she exchanged with him tonight—and she hears them differently this time.

_Cloud is graduating in a few months._

_I'm not his favorite person, to be honest._

_Mom will be happy to have that back._

_Me too._

_Take care of each other._

The phone ringing tears through the silence, scaring Tifa, and she drops the frame; the sound of glass breaking rises, adding to the cacophony. She grips her shirt over her heart as it again goes _thump thump thump_ in her ears, suffocating everything for a long moment. Her hold loosens as unexpected noises echo from the living room—like Cloud is in a hurry, like he's about to run out of the door, like he got bad news—

Tifa grabs her phone to glance at the time—12:52AM—as she walks out of the bedroom; a call this late can't be good, it just can't. Cloud is shrugging on his jacket, boots already on; she only has a second to glimpse his face—and see the terror and the panic there—before he runs out of the door, slamming it shut behind him. Before she even realizes what she's done, Tifa has slipped her feet into her boots and grabbed her coat as well; she doesn't put it on, not having time to slow down when she hears Cloud thundering down the stairs.

"Cloud!"

Her shout echoes in the stairwell, jarring and loud, but she couldn't care less. Someone pokes their head out of their door as she reaches the ground floor, only to see Cloud is already outside. It's a middle-aged man who yells at her to _shut the fuck up, we're trying to sleep_ , but Tifa ignores him—the air is cold outside, reminding her she's in PJs and dragging a jacket around. Still, she doesn't stop as she follows Cloud and she understands he's headed for the bus stop—and why does there have to be one so close to the apartment—she could have driven him home—because that has to be it, something must have happened there—

"Cloud!" she yells again.

But her voice is lost to the city. The bus pulls up before she can reach him—Cloud climbs aboard, and the doors shut. Tifa halts to watch the bus drive away from the curb. It's as she stands there, cold and alone, that she becomes aware she's shivering; aware of the death grip she has on her phone. It all happened so suddenly, she thinks as she puts on the jacket; the shock of Cloud's departures sinks into her—the thought that he was so _scared_ is what she sees over and over again in her mind. She's left with too many questions, and yet deep down, she knows she has the answers.

Tifa stares at the bus as it disappears from sight, turning a corner; it's only once she's certain it won't magically come back that she turns around. The world feels strange around her as she tries the building's door and it doesn't budge—of course it doesn't, she didn't grab her keys, and now there's no one to buzz her in. Tears that had been threatening to fall all night trickle down her cheeks as she shivers, the wind lashing at her bare legs. The middle-aged man who yelled at her went back inside his apartment, and for a second, Tifa considers banging on the main door to annoy him again so he'll come to open up. But the weight of her emotions becomes too much, and instead, she sits on the porch steps, feeling like her legs are about to give out. The tears keep on falling, silent and freezing in the night; Tifa could wipe them away, but she doesn't have the strength right now.

She takes a deep breath, then another—she has to calm down, has to find a solution to all this. The realization she took her phone with her hits her, making her shake her head at her obliviousness. Tifa unlocks the screen and her breath hitches; she had forgotten her background is a picture of Cloud taken a week ago—of him smiling candidly, happy and carefree. A sharp sob breaks out of her; she can't tear her eyes away from the picture despite the pain it brings—but the pain is not for her, it's for him because she knows she won't see Cloud smiling at her like this again for a long time.

Because things will change after tonight, won't they? Tifa can't believe they won't. Not from the way Cloud ran away, not from the doubts stabbing at her heart and twisting her stomach and drawing the air out of her lungs. It's tempting to text Cloud in order to get confirmation; the need to know gnaws at her. Before she's realized it, she's typed out a message. She freezes before sending it, her gaze fixed on the screen—on the jumping dots indicating he's writing to her.

Tifa waits, and the dots dance, teasing her and fueling her edginess; the tears have stopped now, but there is still something crawling under skin and through her body that is begging to be set free. She waits, but no message comes in—after a while, Cloud stops typing, leaving her in the dark. Tifa looks at what she had written— _what happened? did something happen to Seph?_ —and then deletes the text. Part of her isn't sure why she does it; not out of pettiness, that's for sure, but maybe out of confusion—she is stumbling through the night, unable to find stable ground, unable to stand straight and be honest. If she had told Cloud about her fear, her anxiety, maybe things could have been different; maybe Seph wouldn't have left, and then—

She drops her head in her hands, still clutching her phone. That feeling of dread she had all evening, it was about Seph and not about Cloud. The way he had spoken about his brother, about his visit—it had given her a strange vibe, sad and almost desperate but also rather calm—final, even. And now, it seems obvious in retrospect; Tifa hates that she didn't see it— _really_ see it—in time.

It wasn't just a visit—it was a goodbye.

Tifa stays like this for a few minutes, absorbing the horror of the night; it seeps through her pores, infects what is left of her heart. It's only once she feels her composure return that she unlocks her phone again. This time, she finds Zack's name. The call goes to voicemail, so she dials again. He answers this time, his voice filled with sleep and annoyance.

"What the fuck?" His mumbling can barely be heard as if he spoke in his pillow.

"Zack, I—" Tifa inhales, sensing cracks forming in her fragile self-control. "I need you to come see me," she carries on.

"Tifa?" Zack asks, confused but more awake.

She gulps down the rising tears. "Yeah. Something happened."

Noise follows, like Zack got out of bed and tripped over his covers; when he comes back on the phone, there's no missing the urgency dripping from his words. "Are you okay? What about Cloud?"

"Cloud left," she says, surprised at how calm she sounds. "He got a call and ran out. I'm—locked out of the building." The sudden quiet that is his reply makes Tifa tense. "I need to get in and—" She chokes, everything crashing down on her again. "I want to talk to you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way." He curses and suddenly sounds far away, and she guesses he put her on speaker. "I'll be there in fifteen. I'm hanging up now, alright?"

The still noise of the city replaces Zack's voice, and Tifa hates how lonely it makes her feel. She checks Cloud's thread again; no new messages still. The next fifteen minutes feel like forever—the wind and the cold don't help, sure, but it's the suspense of not knowing what happened that eats at her and makes time drag. Tifa huddles deeper into her jacket, even if it does little good; the semblance of warmth is the only relief she can find at the moment.

She almost doesn't notice Zack jogging towards her. He comes to a stop before her and extends his hand to help her up; Tifa hesitates, and it doesn't go past him.

"I think I froze. I can't move," she says before he can speak. Her attempt at humor feels forced and unwelcome, yet she needs the illusion of normalcy.

"C'mon, get up." Zack's tone is kind, but there's a definite strain to it. This time, he bends to help pull her up. "Let's go inside."

Tifa follows him as he unlocks the door. When they get to her floor, she pauses as she realizes she has to go back to Cloud's first; something about this feels wrong, and she hates that. She hates so many things tonight—the list is never-ending, scrolling through her mind in a loop, and she keeps seeing her own blindness scrawled at the top.

The sight of Cloud's laptop and headphones and textbooks still sprawled over the coffee table and the couch is strange. It's like he didn't leave, like he just went in the bedroom for a second and will come back to study and finish that fucking assignment any time now—any time—

But of course, Cloud doesn't reappear, and she closes her eyes at her stupidity. She senses Zack walk past her and deeper into the living room; Tifa counts to ten before she opens them again and goes to sit on the couch next to him.

"What happened?"

She's never heard Zack sound so serious, and it takes her aback even when it shouldn't—the circumstances don't call for levity.

"Seph dropped by to visit," she whispers. Though she wants to sound strong, she finds her voice can't rise well enough for that; it's already difficult to articulate the words, and she lets this battle go. "He didn't tell Cloud he was coming."

"Oh." Zack rubs his cheek. "That doesn't sound good."

Words become hard to find at once, and Tifa can only shake her head in response. Her hands ball into fists in her lap; it's to hide their shaking, but the pain helps her anchor herself to reality.

"When you say Cloud got a call… Do you know what happened?"

It's the idea of verbalizing her doubts and fears that breaks the dam—Zack doesn't react when she starts crying as if he had expected it. He waits at her side, and his silence and patience make her glad she called him.

"I don't know for sure," she says once her breathing evens out. She wipes away the remaining tears with her sleeves. "But it must have to do with Seph."

Zack's expression stays impassive. "Cloud didn't let you know?"

"No." The jumping dots come back to her, an unwanted reminder. "He just ran out."

"Okay…" He runs his hands over his face; she can't ignore the exhaustion weighing his every move. "We'll see tomorrow." At her surprised look, Zack sighs. "Go to sleep, Tifa. I'll write to him, try to get some news. But beyond that…"

She swallows the spark of frustration—deep down, she's aware he's right despite not wanting him to be. Staying here is the last thing she wants, but it's the only one she can do for tonight. Tifa picks up her phone to check for new messages—nothing.

"Give him some time," Zacks says gently. "He'll write to you tomorrow."

They part a few minutes later; Zack goes back to his place in spite of her objections, and she cannot stand to sleep in Cloud's bed alone. Once Zack has left, she tidies up the apartment before turning off all the lights and heading back to hers. To her dismay, she only feels worse inside her place; the dark seems to swallow every inch of the room, every piece of her cracked heart—everything, she thinks, it swallows everything, and she hates, hates, _hates_ it.

In the end, she leaves her bedside light on as she slips into her bed. It's in the vain hope of warding off bad dreams and disturbed sleep—she's had enough of reality and nightmares merging tonight.

She only closes her eyes once the sun rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter in two for what I think is a better reading experience, so yes again, another chapter. Maybe one day I will stop adding chapters; maybe one day I will finish the damn story. One day.... *stares off into the distance*.
> 
> Thank you to Kaya, Jen, Karmi, legendaryboo, Max and eternalli for the love! You can find me here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans).


	14. Schwanengesang. D 957: "Ständchen"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the trigger warning below; it's something I've tagged from the beginning, but it comes into play this chapter and beyond.
> 
> tw: referenced/implied suicide; no graphic references.
> 
> —  
> Schwanengesang. D 957: "Ständchen" - Schubert / Liszt
> 
> (translates to Swan Song - "Serenade")

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

**14:** Schwanengesang. D 957: "Ständchen"

—

**Tifa:** _did you go back home?_

**Tifa:** _can you please give me some news?_

**Tifa:** _i’m so worried, please_

The unread messages stare back at Tifa, taunting in their silence, and she drops the phone on the table, unable to keep looking at it. Cloud hasn’t given her sign of life ever since he ran out last night, and though she hadn’t thought she’d be able to go to school, she had needed the distraction. Tifa drums her fingers on the table, the noise of the cafeteria drowning the anxious _tap tap tap_ ; while she might usually prefer somewhere quiet, the white noise of the university helps to drown out her thoughts. They spin on repeat before her eyes, through her mind—it’s hard to detach herself from them when she knows one day her phone will chime with bad news that will break her heart.

She observes the students yelling and eating and studying and laughing—she wonders how she can feel so alone in this moment, surrounded by over a hundred people. It’s maybe that part of her heart ran away with Cloud, and that now it’s like it will never come back—or it will, but it won’t be the same as before. It will be bruised and battered, sorrowful and hurt beyond measure; Tifa isn’t sure it will ever fit back into the puzzle of her heart.

Someone walks behind her—too near, too slow, just _too much_ ; she feels the air swish around them, the almost-brush of their clothes against her hair, and she hates, hates, hates that someone touched her, accidentally or not. It’s her anxiety, she knows that; it makes every sense go haywire in the worst way possible, amplifying every sensation so that her irritation grows. Tifa scoots her chair forward to stick as close to the table as she can; it doesn’t matter that the stranger already left—she doesn’t care for others to do the same.

Her hammering pulse is so loud, and perhaps that’s why she doesn’t hear the phone beeping with a message; it takes a few more minutes for her to notice it, and when she does, she snatches the phone off the table. It takes her a second to realize **Second in Command** is Cloud—he hasn’t texted her through the group chat with Zack in such a long time. Nausea rises, but she takes a deep breath and opens the message.

**Second in Command** : _i’m at mom’s house in Kalm. sorry if i don’t answer. i need time alone._

The simplicity of his words hits hard, and Tifa stares at them for a long moment, debating what to write back. While she wants to respect his wish, she also wants to know how he is—how he is handling the situation.

**Neighbor** : _i understand. just…lemme know if you need anything. i’m here_

She hesitates to send the message until the last second, wondering if she should have pushed more, but when his reply comes in less than a minute later, she knows she did the right thing.

**Second in Command:** _thank you_

Tifa can’t tear her eyes away from her phone until someone sits across her, and she looks up, annoyed. But it’s Zack, and her features soften as she takes in his wrinkled shirt and the greasy shine of his hair. She can tell he must have run his hand through it over and over. He says nothing as a greeting; he only sets his backpack on the table and lays his head on it.

“Did you see the message?” she asks after a while.

Zack lifts his head and then rests it on his crossed arms. “Yeah.” He waves a hand around in a forced attempt at casualness. “He never answered my calls.”

She shrugs. “Same thing.”

Tension builds between them, heightened by the noise enveloping them; it fills the emptiness created by Cloud’s absence until it threatens to overflow. Tifa senses it will break soon—she doesn’t know what she’ll do once it does, because it seems so surreal still that Cloud ran out in the night out of terror and panic. She can’t accept it—not really, not yet.

“Why the glum faces?”

Aerith’s voice is a twinkle in the mass of shouts; Tifa turns to look at her friend as she takes a seat to her left.

“Hey,” Tifa says, too quiet to be heard. And for some reason, that’s fine by her—to not be heard, to have her words swallowed by the sea of students.

“So?” Aerith leans her chin on her hand. “Don’t pretend everything is alright, you two.”

“Cloud had to go home for an emergency,” Zack says, “and we don’t—”

His phone chimes, and he brings it up to look at the notification; the long pause that follows is enough for Tifa to guess who the sender is. Her nails dig into her palms as her hands clench into fists.

“What does he say?” It’s surprising how calm she sounds when she has morphed into a storm of envy and worry, a kaleidoscope of desperation and disappointment. It’s all against her will, of course, because she doesn’t _want_ to be jealous of Zack for this—for having Cloud tell him more than he told her. But it remains that bitterness seeps through the cracks of her heart to pollute her mind.

Zack’s eyes raise to meet hers, and there is a kind of apology in them—one she doesn’t wish to see but can’t avoid. “Just to let our teachers know of his absence since we had to hand in an assignment.”

“So he’s not coming back before Thursday?” Her pulse drums, the rhythm almost nauseating in its intensity. “Did he say when?”

She notices the way Zack hesitates—the tells are subtle, and she would have missed them if she hadn’t been looking for them. The way he glances at Aerith for a second, like he needs reassurance; the way his lips pinch; the way he just seems so fucking sad and annoyed all at once.

“He says he’ll be back Thursday night late.” Zack shakes his head. “But I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Tifa stiffens at this, and though she doesn’t miss how Aerith turns to look at her, she can’t bring herself to interact with people anymore. Not right now. When she stands up and swings her bag over her shoulder, no one seems surprised.

“I’m heading back,” is all she says.

“Tifa—” Zack yelps as if someone hit him, and Aerith’s glare makes Tifa think she kicked her boyfriend under the table.

“Call us if you need anything, Tifa.” Aerith reaches to grab her hand and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t hesitate.”

Despite the genuine ring of the words, Tifa doesn’t care for them at the moment. “Sure.”

There’s no one to stop her as she exits the cafeteria. Navigating the hallways asks for energy she doesn’t have, but she pushes through until she realizes she hasn’t left the school like she had wanted. Instead, she is presented with rows of individual rooms from which a faint musical chaos sounds. She’s uncertain why she came to the Music department; she knows Vincent isn’t here on Wednesdays—he’s told her before—so it’s not to speak with him. And she doesn’t have access to the piano rooms, so she can’t play. But in the end, as she slides down against a wall to sit on the floor, it’s not about playing or talking—it’s about listening, she thinks, about absorbing the melodic madness crowding the air. About the comfort it brings her to hear people practicing and enjoying the music; about the good memories it stirs up—learning new pieces and messing them up, but persevering and finally succeeding. Tifa draws strength from the energy vibrating around her; it reminds her to keep trying, and she scolds herself for having forgotten that.

She doesn’t stay there long. Her eyes sweep the hallway, skipping over the few students walking at a leisurely pace, and instead settling on the corkboard of announcements. A paper on the lower right of the board grabs her attention; she stands and approaches, pushing aside other papers to get a clear view of that one. A smile spreads, faint but true, as she realizes it’s Vincent’s ad for his piano lessons. Strips of paper with his contact information hang at the bottom of the sheet, ready to be plucked—and Tifa takes one without a second thought.

It’s not that needs his number—she’s had it for a while now. But her decision feels more real with the strip of paper in her hand.

For the first time since she was seventeen and her world crumbled, Tifa isn’t scared of the music—of the memories and the ghosts that dance around her, invisible yet so substantial. She doesn’t want to just _play_ once in a while—because she’s aware it won’t be enough now. It’s something she wants to discover in all its flaws and glories—the way she used to, the way she aspired to. It’s something that was so intrinsically, so intensely part of who she was. And she wants that again, that passion and that love, even if they will be tainted with sorrow and yearning.

For the first time since she played the piano again, her decision feels true, absolute, honest—so, so fucking _honest_ that she thinks for a second she’s lying to herself again. But the blindfold is off now, and there are no more sweetly whispered lies in her ears, no more all-encompassing darkness. There is no more regret—or at least, there is none that weighs her down. And she might hate that it took such a catalyst for her to make a sort of peace with herself and music, but Tifa embraces it anyway.

She thinks of the house she grew up in, of the house she shared with her mother, where the piano collects dust still—and Tifa makes a silent promise to no one and herself as she leaves the school, the paper still clenched in her hands.

(To go back and sit at the bench; to lift the cover and sweep her fingers over the keys, lovingly and melancholy; to play what she always wanted to play and not what she thought she should have; to have her Dad listen to her soul sing; to have that song fill the absence in between them; to show him she never forgot, she was just scared, but now, now she is brave; and to banish the silence haunting that house.

To say farewell.)

-

On Thursday night, Tifa waits. She tells herself over and over again that it’s ridiculous to do so—but even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Ever since she woke up, her heart has been twisting and beating too hard, too fast; her anxiety won’t let her go enough for her to rest.

Still, she tries to occupy herself; there’s no point in sitting on the couch and staring at the time on her phone—staring at it tick-tick-ticking away while nothing happens. When midnight rolls around and she’s exhausted all the studying and homework she had to do, Tifa lays down on the couch. Now, there is really nothing to do but wait or sleep—and yet neither option is appealing. She brings her phone up to glance through her messages with Cloud; the last one is still her _i’m so worried, please_. Not that she had expected anything else to have magically appeared.

Noise from the hall—heavy footsteps and the jingling of keys—alert her; Tifa sits up and turns towards her door. Her first instinct is to go look in the hall, but she tames it, knowing it’s not necessarily Cloud—and she doesn’t want to freak out her other neighbors. She pads closer, ears straining to check if the person has walked past her apartment. When the noise only gets louder and she hears a lock turning, Tifa almost runs out of the door. Still, she refrains, not wanting to give Cloud time and room to breathe. There’s a loud thud, like he dropped a bag in the entrance without caring for the people below, and then the faint echo of footsteps as he walks deeper into the apartment.

Again, Tifa waits, and it’s only once her body is vibrating from anxiety that she slips her feet into shoes, puts on a hoodie, and steps out to knock on his door. It takes a moment for him to answer; it’s long enough that, for a moment, she thinks he’s gone to sleep already or he didn’t hear it. But then the door opens, and Tifa holds her breath.

It’s Cloud on the other—but it’s not the Cloud she’s gotten to know these last months. There’s nothing about his appearance that’s changed, not exactly; his hair has a greasy sheen maybe, and his dark circles more pronounced. But it’s the drooping shoulders, the weariness in his gaze, the slow way he moves, like he’s tired and defeated.

Despite wanting to step closer, Tifa stays where she is in the hall, getting the hunch that he might not appreciate it right now.

“Hey,” she says softly. “I heard you come back.” There’s no point in telling him Zack let her know he planned on returning Thursday night—at least, not this second.

“Yeah.” His voice is flat, blank. It’s nothing like the usual quietness of it or the assertive teasing that shines through sometimes. It’s quiet in the worst way possible. “I’m going back tomorrow morning. I needed to grab some things.”

Tifa’s chest caves in—in the back of her mind, she sees her doubts and her fears crystalize into something tangible, something she so wanted to be wrong about. “Cloud, do you wa—”

“I want to be alone,” he interrupts, again in that stark voice. At her hesitation, he exhales, long and loud, as if steeling himself for something he’d rather keep hidden, unspoken. “Seph is gone.” The words leave him in a hushed confession; Cloud closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Mom found—” He cuts himself off, biting his lip. “She’s the one who called.”

Tifa nods; she nods because there is nothing she can say to this, and yet she would hate to do nothing. Tears sting her eyes, and she wills them not to fall, not now, not before him. She almost tells him _I know, I figured_ , but instead, she whispers, “I’ll be next door.” The only thing she can do, she thinks, is respect what he wants.

“Thanks.” Cloud gulps like he swallowed words threatening to surface; he shuts the door gently.

Her apartment is cold and unwelcoming as she walks back inside. It feels wrong to be here, alone in the silence. And she realizes, as she sits on the couch again, that no music rises from Cloud’s place. That, more than anything else, is what breaks her heart; the tears fall down her cheeks as she waits and waits and still the stillness prevails.

It’s as her tears dry that she remembers there _is_ something else she can do to help him—to comfort him. Tifa is up and at the piano before she can think this through; she unlocks the practice pedal, aware her playing might now bother the neighbor—but that’s the least of her concerns right now.

She starts with the partition she left on the stand the other day—the Nocturne in E Minor she’s now able to play through fluidly. Then, it’s whatever she has on hand and learned—Rêverie and Shostakovich’s Waltz No.2. Over and over, she plays the pieces; her mind becomes blanketed by the music, and she loses herself in it a little. Soon, she is not here, not really—she is next door, wrapping her arms around Cloud, offering what little comfort she can in the face of tragedy. It’s when she lifts her hands from the piano and the haze fades that she hears the knocking.

Cloud doesn't meet her eyes when she opens the door to let him in. “I know I said—”

“It’s okay, Cloud,” Tifa says as she leads them into the living room.

When she sits on one end of the couch and he sits on the other, she understands the need for distance—Cloud can’t seek comfort for now, not if he wants to get through tonight.

“Do you want to talk?” Her question hangs between them until he shakes his head. “Okay. Then, can I continue playing?”

Cloud sinks deeper into the couch, staring ahead at nothing—or maybe at ghosts she can’t see. “Please,” he whispers.

So, Tifa plays—the same piece she already had at first, but then she grabs something else, something new. A glance at the partition tells her she can sight-read most of it; slowly and a little clumsily perhaps, but well enough for the music to sing.

And it does—Schubert’s Serenade earns its name, the lyricism of the melody both saddens and enlivens her. There’s something mournful about it but also hopeful; she only wishes for the music to call to Cloud’s buried sorrow and guilt, to envelop him and remind him he’s not alone. The constant rhythm of the left hand’s accompaniment sounds soft, and Tifa sometimes skips it to concentrate on the melody. She doesn’t stop despite missteps and hesitations; or rather, she can’t stop because then the spell will shatter, and there’ll be that silence again.

But it does—she can’t play forever, and though she locked the practice pedal back into place, she knows she can’t push her luck with the other neighbors. Tifa lifts her hands away from the piano and inhales deeply before getting up; she turns to look at Cloud. For some reason, it surprises her that he fell asleep, even if it probably shouldn’t. Perhaps it’s that she never thought of her playing as a lullaby with the blunders and her hesitancy.

Cloud’s head is thrown back, resting on the back of the sofa, and his arms are crossed over his chest, his legs spread out before him; his chest rises, slow and steady. Tifa does what she can not to jostle him as she sits close, but the movement alerts him, and he opens his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says, his voice thick and low from sleep.

“You should sleep in a bed,” Tifa says in answer. “You’ll hurt your neck this way.”

Cloud doesn’t move at first, but then he sits straight. “I need to take a shower first.”

“Okay…” She stays where she is, watching him disappear into the bathroom.

It’s the fact that he doesn’t even grab a towel or a change of clothes he’s left here before that worries her. The water starts, and she releases a sigh, unbidden relief flowing through her.

It doesn’t last, though. Tifa waits once more, growing more and more nervous as the water doesn’t stop, as Cloud doesn’t reappear—he never takes long showers. After half an hour, Tifa knocks on the bathroom door. No answer comes back, so she tries the doorknob.

Steam wafts from the room. Through it, she sees Cloud; he sits on the floor of the shower, unaware of her presence as she pads into the bathroom. Tifa senses the cracks in her heart expand as she takes in the defeat overflowing from him—his head hangs down, resting on his arms as they wrap around his knees. He doesn’t sit under the spray of the shower, instead letting the steam warm him.

Tifa steps out of the room but leaves the door ajar; she takes a moment to grab towels and then heads back in. Cloud hasn’t moved, and his stillness makes him statuesque in many ways—aloof in his loneliness, cold in his misery. She strips off her clothes, not bothering to fold them; the heap lies on the floor near the sink, and right now she couldn’t care less if it stays there forever.

The door to the shower sounds both loud and muted to Tifa as she opens it, but Cloud doesn’t react until she’s kneeled behind him and pressed her body against his. She feels the way his body collapses at her touch; Cloud doesn’t make a noise, doesn’t cry—but there’s something about the hush of his pain that hits Tifa harder.

“Hey,” she says, speaking near his ear, “I’m here, okay?” She slides her hands up and down his shoulders, then up his neck and into his hair. “I’m here.”

Though he says nothing, Cloud lifts his head and leans into her touch, and Tifa takes this as a victory. She stretches her arm to grab the shampoo; when she massages it into his scalp, Cloud allows his body to fall more fully against hers.

“Bend forward a little.” She pushes him in the spray's direction so she can rinse the suds out of his hair.

But once it’s done, Tifa doesn’t move away, and neither does Cloud; by now, the water has cooled, and she thinks they should get out soon, and yet… She drops a kiss on his shoulder as her hands continue their slow trek of his back and arms; they’re comforting, grounding touches she hopes reach him.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, “we should get out. You need to sleep.”

Cloud nods and twists around, the movement sluggish, like his body can’t function the way he wants it to. He stares at her, and she has the impression he wants to confess something, anything. Finally, he says, “Thank you.” The blankness she’s heard from him all night is replaced by a gentleness that tugs at her heart.

“Let’s just go sleep, okay?” Tifa pushes his hair away from his face, combing the wet strands back. “I can blow-dry your hair.”

He shakes his head and then follows her lead as she steps out of the shower; he accepts the towel she hands him without a word. In the bedroom, he changes into clean clothes to sleep in; so does Tifa. The room is quiet and eerie as they climb into the bed, but it doesn’t scare Tifa; she is reminded of the piano—of messing up and persisting until there is nowhere to go but forward. This is the same, she thinks, only she’s not playing sonatas and practicing études; rather, she sings lullabies and soothes shattered hearts. And again, there is nowhere to go but forward.

Cloud keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he breaks the stillness. “He’s really gone.”

It feels too soon to tell him _they’re never really, truly gone_ , so Tifa scoots closer until she presses against his arm and shoulder in wordless comfort.

“I’m sorry for running out like that,” he adds after a pause. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I… I think part of me knew as he left. But I didn’t want to believe it, so I didn’t say anything.”

Part of her knew, too, and she also stayed silent—Tifa closes her eyes as the guilt washes over her.

“He came here to say goodbye.” Cloud’s voice breaks on the last word, but he holds the rising tears at bay, and Tifa wonders when he will break. “It’s when he hugged me that… Seph never hugged me like that. I shouldn’t have let him leave.”

“Cloud, don’t do this.” She senses his body stiffens, but she carries on, knowing this is something he must hear. “I understand where you’re coming from.” Memories of her mother, sick and refusing to let anyone know, run through her mind—how could Tifa never have noticed until it was too late? “But don’t do this to yourself.”

He doesn’t answer, and Tifa can tell it’s because he disagrees with her; while she’s grateful for the lack of confrontation, she knows this guilt, this feeling of failure cannot take seed or it will fester forever.

“The funeral is Saturday,” he blurts out. She doesn’t protest the change in topics. “I’d like it if you could come.”

Her fingers curl over his arm. “Of course, I’ll come.”

“Zack, too.” It’s like he doesn’t hear her, like he’s lost in the future he never wanted. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, but you and Zack could drive up in the evening.”

“Cloud—”

“There’s a nice, cheap hotel in Kalm where you could stay for a night or two. And—”

“ _Cloud_.” He stops talking to her relief. “I’ll be there Saturday, alright? Zack, too. And we can check that out later.”

It takes a while for him to say, “Alright,” and even then, Tifa can sense he’s holding something back.

“I also… I have something I’d like to ask.”

It’s his hopeful tone that piques her curiosity. “Go ahead,” she says.

“I’d like it if—” He blows out a breath. “Don’t feel pressured, I’m just…I’m just asking.” A pause, and then, “I’d like it if you could play piano at the funeral.”

Tifa feels her heart stop—or maybe stop isn’t the right word. It feels like her lungs ignited and she can’t breathe for a second; like her heart crawled up her throat and tied her tongue. It hurts and it scares her, but then—

It also feels like a second chance. And she remembers that promise she made to herself the other day—to do so many things but, most of all, to say farewell. The tension eases then, though it doesn’t disappear, not completely. If Cloud notes her turmoil, he doesn’t question it, and she can’t blame him for it, not with what’s on his mind.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, soft and hesitant. “But I can’t promise anything.”

The way his body sags betrays how relieved he is. “That’s more than enough.”

As she drifts off, exhaustion catching up to her, Tifa wonders if, for her, it really is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans)


	15. Nocturne Op.72 no.1 in E Minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we are nearing the end, can't believe it. I always say that, but honestly, this time it feels very surreal, and that's all thanks to all of you wonderful people.
> 
> As a precaution, this chapter still deals with the trigger warning from last chapter (referenced/implied suicide), though there are no direct references. I prefer to warn just in case.
> 
> —  
> Nocturne Op.72 no.1 - Chopin

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

**15:** Nocturne Op.72 no.1 in E Minor

—

The drive to Kalm feels like forever. Tifa isn’t certain if it’s because of the darkness that seems to never end, or if it’s because of the silence between Zack and her. Ever since they left Midgard at around 20:00, they’ve barely said a word to each other. It’s not that they have nothing to say, but rather that there’s nothing they want to discuss—the reason behind their drive is too fresh and too awful. She’s thankful for the music drifting through the car, though; it’s a pop station she’s never heard of, and most of the songs aren’t to her taste, but she doesn’t care. What matters is that it breaks the quiet.

She leans her forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching the blurred shapes pass her by. A forest lines this section of the highway, and Tifa likes to imagine she sees glowing eyes and legendary creatures—because then she could pretend all of this is a bad dream.

As she spots Kalm in the distance, she hopes to wake up, over and over, until Zack parks in front of the small hotel they’ve rented rooms in. Still, she hesitates; her hold on the door handle tightens, and she can’t say if she wants to let go and remain in the car, or open the door and step out into reality. But the choice is made for her when Zack exits the car, and she has no choice but to follow.

“Did you text Cloud we arrived?” Tifa asks while they take out their belongings from the trunk.

Zack glances down at his phone as he slings his bursting backpack over his shoulder. “He’s waiting inside.”

“Oh, okay. I didn’t know he was meeting us here.”

“Neither did I.” Zack lets out a long exhale. “I don’t think he can stand staying in the house.”

Her hand clenches around the strap of her bag; she goes to answer but holds it down. There’s no point in saying anything, she thinks, because nothing will seem appropriate or enough.

They walk into the hotel, and Tifa’s eyes find Cloud immediately; he waits, sprawled into an armchair facing an electrical fireplace. Cloud doesn’t notice them at first, his attention held by the flicker of the flames—but he jumps to his feet once he does.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he stops before them. An attempt at a smile twists his features into something weary and dejected—something that can’t quite be named, the hurt too deep and too absolute.

“Of course we’d come.” Zack mock-punches Cloud in the arm. “Don’t thank us for that.”

“Yeah, but still… It means a lot to me.”

Unsaid words choke Tifa—or maybe not words, but rather something more cruel. Something that scratches at her insides on its way out, digging its claws in the crevices of her throat; something that mauls her heart and punctures her lungs. It makes it too hard to speak, like she’ll be torn apart if she does. So, she nods at Cloud and drops her hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze before following Zack to check-in.

Tifa lets Zack do the honors as the two rooms are under his name; he’d already booked them before she had contacted him on Friday morning, having gotten a text from Cloud. And, really, right now it suits her just fine. If she opens her mouth, she’ll vomit her shredded heart and her mangled soul.

“Are you alright?”

Zack’s question is quiet, for her ears only; the clerk gracefully pretends not to listen as he concludes the registration and prepares their room keys. Tifa shakes her head, and she notices the hand holding the strap of her bag is still clenching it too tightly; it hurts as she loosens her grasp.

“Yeah, stupid question,” Zack mumbles as he grabs the room keys. He thanks the clerk and whirls around. “Let’s go.”

But Tifa can’t move; she can’t bring herself to turn around and walk towards Cloud—it just hurts too much to see him like this. And beyond that, it hurts to remember. It’s a different kind of pain, one that is rooted in memories and has spread so far and wide through her body that she can never escape it.

Zack wraps an arm around her shoulders, gently steering her in Cloud’s direction. “Tifa, come on.”

She doesn’t budge at first; the prospect of carrying on with tonight and tomorrow is too heavy. But then she allows him to guide her, and once Zack realizes she’s following, he lets his arm fall back to his side. He says nothing about her silent freak out; he doesn’t tell her to be strong or to put aside her pain to support Cloud’s, and for that, Tifa is grateful. While Zack isn’t aware of her mother’s death, it’s obvious he can tell something beyond Cloud’s grief is bothering her. And it’s that more than anything else that finally prompts her to speak.

“I’m glad you’re here, Zack.” Her voice is little more than a rasp. “I know you’re here for Cloud. But—”

“You’re my friend, too, Tifa. Neither of you need to do this alone.”

Tears sting her eyes, but Tifa wills them not to fall—not now. “Thank you,” she whispers.

They stop next to Cloud, who stands before the electric fireplace.

“We’re gonna head up,” Zack says. He raises his hand to show the room keys. “What about you?”

Cloud blinks, his eyes still on the fire. “I’m staying with you guys.”

“Alright, then let’s go.”

It takes Cloud a moment to react. “Okay.” He twists around to walk towards the elevators.

The urge to catch up to him is strong, and Tifa sees no reason to resist it; anxiety still swirls through her, and so does sorrow and memories, but there is something about helping Cloud get through this that feels right. It doesn’t feel like she has to push aside her own pain to do it; instead, it feels like they can understand each other—like his heartache calls to hers in a language of their own.

Tifa grabs his hand as they all wait for the elevator, and relief spreads through her when he grips it back tightly. It’s Zack who chats while they go up to their floor and find the rooms. It’s mindless talk about school and how one of their teachers is a dick; about how Reno is acting like he won the prank war and Zack now has no choice but to retaliate when he comes back; about normal things and normal lives. Tifa knows what he’s doing—distracting Cloud, of course, but also reminding him that there is something waiting for him back in Midgar. That even if life changes irrevocably, the world doesn’t stop spinning. And she can’t tell if Cloud realizes it yet, but the seeds have been sowed, and she can only hope he will come to understand it in time.

Zack slips into his room to drop his backpack before coming in Tifa’s with Cloud. She takes a quick look at the room, appreciating the simplicity of it as the guys speak in hushed voices. It’s tempting to eavesdrop, but instead, she walks deeper into the room to give them privacy. As she drops her bag on a chair in the corner, a soft laugh resounds, a sound that’s almost too quiet to be real, and it tugs at her heartstrings. Tifa glances back at Cloud, whose lips are curled in the shadow of a smile as Zack tells him something she can’t hear.

Zack is the one who notices her gaze on them; he sends her knowing a look as he asks, “You guys want to eat something?”

“I’m good,” Cloud says. He steps out of his boots and jacket, putting them away in the entrance closet. “But feel free to order something.”

“I’m okay as well.” Tifa takes a seat on the edge of the bed, ignoring Zack’s eyes fixed on her; he’s aware she hasn’t eaten since 19:00, when they had a quick supper before leaving. Five hours later, and she’s still not hungry—or rather, she feels a slight hunger, but the thought of eating makes her nauseous.

Zack walks to the bedside table with the phone. “Well, I’m getting room service. And I’m ordering you something.”

“Zack…” She sighs, the determined set of his jaw letting her know he won’t let this one go. “Fine.”

As he orders, Tifa motions at Cloud to come sit with her. He doesn’t hesitate, not exactly, but there is a certain lag to his movements that makes her unsure of her next actions. But it all vanishes when he climbs on the bed to sit against the headboard and tugs at her to follow; she settles in between his legs, sliding down a little against his chest to get comfortable.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispers in her ear.

“It’s not—” Tifa stops herself from saying _it’s not a big deal_ , the words tasting sour in her mouth. “You know I’m here for you,” she says instead.

“Yeah.” His arms tighten around her—just a little, but it’s enough for her to feel the weight of his gratitude. “I know.”

They eat and chat for the next hour—it’s a semblance of normalcy Tifa desperately needs, to have Zack ramble on about mindless topics; to sense Cloud’s rare laughs against her back, his breath ruffling her hair. But like any illusion, it must shatter, and it’s once the silence falls between them, a brief lull in the conversation, that it does. It’s a little jarring, a little surprising—but Tifa had figured Cloud would speak of the next day at some point.

“I’m making a speech tomorrow,” he says, his voice louder than it’d ought to be.

Tifa meets Zack’s gaze, blinking out of shock—she hadn’t expected this of all things.

Zack leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees; his foot jumps in an anxious rhythm, but the sound is muffled by the carpet. “Are you sure?”

“Mom won’t make it. She can’t. And I won’t ask Denzel to do it.” Behind her, Tifa feels the way Cloud’s breath hitches, like he’s running out of air, the words drawing it all from his lungs. “I have to do it.”

When Zack stays silent, so does Tifa. There’s nothing _right_ to say here, nothing that will make reality better—but there are so many things to be said that would make it worse, and that’s why they keep quiet.

“It can’t be anyone else,” Cloud says. The determined quality of his voice mixed with the unfocused way he says it, like he’s repeating words to convince himself more than anyone else, betrays his hesitancy. “I need to…” He gently pushes Tifa forward so he can get off the bed; she moves without a word. “I need to work on that,” he mumbles.

Cloud picks up a notepad and a pen with the hotel’s insignia, then sits at the small desk, hunching forward to scribble something. After a few minutes, Zack shakes his head and stands up; he drops a hand over Cloud’s shoulder on his way to the door.

“Goodnight, you two,” he calls out as he leaves. His eyes seek hers, the wordless plea in them impossible to avoid, but then the door closes, and he’s gone.

Tifa doesn’t move at first, waiting to see if Cloud will stay absorbed in his scribbling now that they’re alone. When his attention doesn’t shift, she takes out her phone to let Aerith they got here safely. The message sent, she falls back against the cushions with a sigh and stares at the ceiling. It’s the oppressing quiet that gets to her again, and she hates how she can’t tolerate it anymore. Tifa scrolls through her music application, not looking for anything in particular—until she sees her saved album for Chopin’s Nocturnes. She has all of them except the one in C Minor; it’s still too difficult for her to listen to it. Her eyes flick to Cloud, then back to her phone. The first one calls to her, and without overthinking it, she taps on it and raises the volume.

The first notes sound too loud, as is usually the case when the silence breaks; Cloud tenses but doesn’t look at her. Tifa gets to her feet and places her cellphone on the dresser before walking up to him. He doesn’t hide what the notepad, and her heart crumbles when she sees he’s started several times and crossed everything out.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says as he throws the pen on the desk. His frustration seeps from his every movement.

She puts her hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be long.”

“I know. It’s just that… You know I’m not great with words. I’m…” He shakes his head. “I can’t think of anything to say right now.”

“That’s okay, Cloud.” At his disbelieving expression, she adds, “Let the words come to you.”

He goes to protest but then frowns as if considering what she said. “We’ll see,” he says after a pause. “I’ll try later. Right now, I’m—tired.” Cloud rubs his face.

“Get some rest.” She gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You need it.”

Tifa leaves him to get ready for bed; she combs through her hair with her hands as she exits the bathroom, stopping short when she realizes Cloud dimmed the lights. He stands before the window, staring outside through the slight gap in between the heavy drapes that allow for a sliver of moonlight to illuminate the room. The music makes the moment almost surreal to Tifa, like she stepped into a dream, and she suddenly wishes to never wake up.

Cloud doesn’t startle when she comes to his side; the moonlight sharpens his features, shadowing the angles of his face—Tifa can only think of how sad and weary he looks this way.

“Is it terrible if I say I don’t want to attend tomorrow?” he asks softly.

Tifa thinks back to her mother’s funeral, to how part of had wanted to attend and say goodbye—and how another part had wanted to run away because then it wouldn’t really _end_. “I think it’s normal, in a way.” She crosses her arms.

“I’ve never been to a funeral.” His confession hangs between them, loud and heavy.

“Cloud—”

He lets out a low chuckle, and the near manic tone of it has Tifa close her eyes. “Never thought it’d be for my brother. Do you think—” He cuts off as if rethinking his words, then carries on, “When he came by, I thought it was a goodbye, but…”

“But what?” Her pulse drums in her throat as apprehension builds within her.

“I keep thinking—keep thinking it was a call for help, you know?” The hushed way he speaks makes her think he fears his own words—his thoughts. “That it was one last attempt to ask for my help, and I didn’t…listen.”

Her instinct is to deny it—to her, as the outsider, it felt like a farewell. But then, she thinks of the words that can never be spoken, of the unsaid Seph took with him across the shore. Again, she finds nothing to say that feels true and right. Cloud isn’t done, though, and speaks again before she can.

“I knew I wasn’t doing enough.” His voice breaks on the last word, and so does her heart. “Even if it wouldn’t have changed anything—I could have done more.”

Tears well up in Tifa’s eyes, both from the present and the past. “You’ll always feel like you could have done more, Cloud,” she says, quiet.

He lets out that laugh again, the one that spells how close he is to unraveling. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. But it’s the truth.” Tifa turns her head to stare out of the window; there’s nothing interesting to see, only the empty street below, but in a way it’s soothing. It feels even more dreamlike, like walls closed around them, trapping them in a box where they’re alone together—there’s no one and nothing to worry about but their own souls and their heartache. “You just can’t let it consume you.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Yeah.” Tifa inhales deeply. “It is.”

In the background, the music sings, filling the emptiness surrounding them. Tifa takes a step back, feeling suffocated, but he grabs her hand before she can go far; Cloud pulls at it until she stands in front of him.

“About the piano—don’t feel like you have to.”

Tifa wills her body not to tense at his words, not to betray her hesitancy. She hasn’t made her decision yet, though she brought partitions with her—just in case is what she told herself; deep down, she knows part of her _wants_ to play. But she’s missing the courage to say yes; the word keeps catching in her throat and stumbling back down into her stomach, weighing her down.

“I haven’t decided yet.” His grip on her hand tightens; she spies the way his eyes seem to flash a deeper blue from the moonlight. It makes her think of stormy skies and endless seas—like he’s filled with turmoil and wrath that threaten to overflow. It scares Tifa, but not for herself—she knows it’s all directed at himself. “Cloud, I really think you should rest.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to sleep yet.”

“Cloud—”

“I don’t want to wake up, Tifa.” His plea resonates in her ears despite its quietness. Cloud tugs her closer and rests his forehead on hers; his free hand cups her cheek, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Please,” he whispers.

Maybe it’s the softness of his voice—the fragility that reverberates from it—but it breaks whatever composure she had been holding on for both of their sakes. When he kisses her, there’s no denying the desperation of his every move, and Tifa is certain he must feel hers as well. Cloud slides a hand below her shirt and up her back, applying pressure so she comes closer and closer to him.

Cloud cradles the back of her head, tilting it back, and leans forward to hide his face in her neck; his lips press against the skin there. The world stops for a moment, a lull in the tempest, and Tifa clings to his shirt, right over his heart; the beat of it is wild beyond measure, but hers must be the same, she thinks, because it bursts as he mouths, “I need you, please, I need you,” into her skin.

There is no more to be said as their world syncs back with reality and the frenzy escalates, only sighed names and drawn-out whimpers, begging and moaning. His skin burns hers as they get lost in harsh kisses and forceful caresses. Cloud backs up her against the window, lifting one of her legs to wrap around him; she had expected the blazing cold of the glass, but instead, she feels the smooth fabric of the drapes, and Tifa reflexively grabs on to them not to stumble. Her other arm stays around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he enters her.

He moans her name once, quietly, then once more, loudly this time, like he’s thrown away any self-control. His grip on her draws taunt, bordering on painful, but there is something about it that’s exhilarating to Tifa; the impetuous nature of the moment maybe, but she finds the reason doesn’t matter, not right now. One of her hands slips into his hair, grasping as the strands and tugging without meaning to when he thrusts hard into her. Cloud grunts and bites her shoulder in answer, soothing the mark with wet kisses.

For a moment, as her body tenses, Tifa believes she will shatter apart, because there is no other explanation for the intensity of what she feels. Everything amalgamates until it’s too much to bear—the faint chill of the glass behind the velvet of the drapes burns her skin, adding to the mix. She shouts as she comes, the sound fading into a whimper; Cloud gasps into her neck, his body pinning hers against the window, and he comes with a drawn-out moan.

Tifa hears the music first, then their panting. She groans as she lets go of the drapes, her fingers stiff from holding on so tightly. Cloud raises his head to look at her, and relief spears through her heart as she notices the pain misting his gaze lessened. She cradles his face, pushing back the hair that had fallen before his eyes.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

Cloud puts her leg down but doesn’t step back; he says nothing, but when his eyes stray from hers, Tifa knows the prospect of tomorrow slammed into him again. She pushes him a little, just enough to take his hand and guide him to the bed. The dimmed lights flood the room with warmth, shading his skin golden and darkening his eyes.

“Tifa,” he says as she has him sit on the edge, “I’m not ready to sleep.”

She straddles his lap, and his arms come to encircle her waist on their own. “I know.”

“I should finish my spee—” The last word is swallowed by her kiss; his fingers dig into her back as she leans forward, forcing him to lie on his back.

“Later,” Tifa mouths against his skin, the sound lost to the music. He must still hear her, or he knows what she would say, because he doesn’t bring it up again. “Focus on this, Cloud.” She kisses him again, slow and indolent, like they have all the time in the world and not a few stolen hours in the night. “Focus on me.”

The way he stares at her as kneels over him, the cascade of her hair cutting them off from reality, makes her heart swell—this time, she knows better than to close her eyes. It takes Cloud a moment to react, and she lets him have the time he needs. He moves so his body is fully on the bed, keeping an arm around her to make sure she stays close. Tifa slants forward so her chest presses against his as she kisses him over and over, stealing his sighs and murmurs away. There’s still that wildness from before flowing between them, but it’s also slower, sweeter; it’s both real and unearthly, fleeting and everlasting. Or maybe it’s that it’s honest, like they’ve both bared soul and mind, laid them open for the other to pass judgment on.

Cloud grabs a handful of her hair and tugs gently, exposing her neck so he can kiss a trail there; the slight pain makes her tighten her hold on him, her nails digging deeper into his back, and she figures he’ll have marks in the morning—hidden from the world by his clothes, a secret reminder of the night he lost himself in her. A sigh escapes her when his teeth graze her skin, when his hand palms her ass and pushes her closer into him. But there’s something about him being his usual assertive self that doesn’t sit well with her—tonight, she wants him to feel _her_.

“Cloud,” she gasps, lightly pushing at his shoulders. “Cloud, wait.”

His hand tightens in her hair for a quick moment, enough to make her moan, but he raises his head. “What’s wrong?” The huskiness of his voice is marred with confusion.

Tifa applies pressure on his arm, forcing him to release his grasp on her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” He frowns, his disbelief lifting away the haze of desire; it deepens as she pushes him to lay back on the bed. “I just want you to look at me,” she says before sinking down on him.

Cloud’s hands twitch where they rest around her waist. “Fuck,” he moans. He throws his head back and fixes his heavy-lidded stare on her. “I am looking at you.”

“Good.” Tifa takes his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers. “Don’t look away,” she whispers.

His fingers tighten around hers, and he curses as she uses their joined hands as leverage to sway in his lap. “I can’t. Tifa, fuck—I can’t.”

Her eyes flutter closed as something builds within her, something fierce and steady. “Good,” she says again. “I don’t want you to.”

“Tifa—let me touch you. Please.” He groans the last word, and his request only fuels her.

“No,” she breathes out. Tifa opens her eyes to find him staring at her, mouth hanging open slightly like he can’t believe what he sees.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His gaze strays for a second, trailing along her body. “The way you make me feel good. So fucking good, Tifa.”

Her hands flex at his words, and she clenches around him, eliciting a strained laugh from him. “You don’t play fair.”

But it’s like he didn’t hear her. “It’s because of you. It’s only with you that—oh, _fuck_ , fuck. That I feel this.”

Warmth spreads through her body, a slow-burning fire that threatens to consume her. “Feel what?” she asks in a sigh.

“So many things. So many fucking things, Tifa.” Cloud lets out a pleased noise that makes her breath hitch. “Only with you,” he says again, the words uttered through pants. “Now let me touch you.”

It’s tempting to refuse, to keep driving him wild, but Tifa finds that doesn’t matter—what does is the way his eyes glaze over with want; the way his hands shake from his shattering restraint; the way he moans in relief when she unlaces their hands and leans down to kiss him, telling him, “It’s only you, too,”. Cloud cups the back of her head, his fingers grasping at her hair again to keep her anchored to him. She whimpers his name as he slides his other hand in between their body to find where they’re joined; he strokes her, adding to the overflow of sensations. His name leaves her in a gasp, but it’s drowned out by her harsh breathing. She hides her face in the side of his neck, letting out a muted shout as her release washes over her, drawn-out and vicious. Cloud stills with a harsh moan and whispered _fuck, fuck_ , the weight of his arm around her back pressing her into him so she can’t escape as he comes.

Neither of them move for a while—Tifa doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to lose the heat of his skin against her or the illusion of better days they built in this room. But she does eventually, pulling away to look at him, and she’s glad to see the tiredness glaze his eyes over. She gives him a kiss, then another on the corner of his lips.

“Go to sleep, alright?”

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, okay.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I’ll stay.”

Cloud moves so they lie on their sides, their legs tangled, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. She thinks she hears him sigh, “Please,”, his breath ruffling her hair, but she says nothing in return, willing him to rest.

Tifa can’t, though—not for a while. Her heart beats too fast for sleep as the music still plays in the background and she remembers the partition in her bag—but the hurt in her chest isn’t the bad sort, isn’t one that makes her hand tremble and her eyes close in order to tune out the world. It’s the sort where her fingers itch to run over the keys and her eyes to close to fully feel what she creates with her touch, with her soul.

It’s sometime late in the night, between the dusk and the dawn, as the last of the Nocturnes play, that Tifa finally feels at peace with what she wants to do.

—

Tifa isn’t sure why the crowd at the funeral surprises her so much—perhaps because of how soon it was scheduled, something Cloud had mentioned was because of his mother being unable to wait. At her side, Zack shoves his hands in his pants’ pockets as he surveys the room.

“He’s with his brother,” he says.

But Tifa shakes her head. “Let him have this time.”

Zack hesitates for a second, biting his lip and sighing. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“C’mon.” She links their elbows and leads them towards a secluded part of the room. “He knows we’re here for him. Let’s just keep an eye out.”

“You never told me what’s in the bag,” Zack says after a long pause. He keeps staring ahead, as if aware the topic might be sensitive.

And, really, Tifa realizes that it might have been just yesterday—but it’s not the case now. She had thought she would feel anxiety and fear at the sight of the piano at the front when she had arrived; instead, a twinge of nervousness had gone through her, and memories had flooded her mind for a moment—still, she had pushed through, had taken a step and then another until she had entered the room. There will forever be something terrifying, something so deeply painful about the idea of playing, but now there is also something like hopefulness and rightness—something bittersweet and soothing.

“I brought partitions.” At Zack’s silence, she turns to look at him. “Cloud asked me to play the piano. I’ll need you to turn the pages, by the way.”

He blinks as if taken aback. “I can’t read music for shit.”

“I’ll nod when you need to turn.”

“I—uh, alright. Alright.” Zack shakes his head. “When are you supposed to play?”

“After the ceremony.” From the corner of her eyes, she spots Cloud detaching himself from his family and heading their way. “He’s coming.”

Cloud stops before them but keeps a certain distance, and she gets the impression he’s afraid of them—afraid of being comforted because then he’ll break.

“Thank you for coming,” he says softly. This time, neither Tifa nor Zack protest the show of gratefulness, aware now is not the time. Cloud inhales and adds, “The ceremony is about to start.”

“Did you finish your speech?” Tifa asks.

He looks down at the floor, then away to the side, and finally back to them. “I have an idea what to say. Tifa,” he continues before they can ask more, “did you decide if…” He trails off as he takes in the bag she carries. “Is that—”

“Yeah,” she says, emotion choking her for a second. She clears her throat, ignoring Zack’s curious stare. “I’ll play.”

Noise rises all of a sudden, and they all turn to witness people taking their seats. Cloud freezes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “That’s it, uh.”

“Cloud—”

Zack’s voice is barely heard over the noise, and if Cloud heard it, he ignores it. “Let’s go.”

Tifa is silent as she walks to the front of the room and pulls out the piano bench. Her heartbeat is loud, and the stress of performing at last slams into her—it’s been years since she played in front of a crowd, and her heart does its best to crawl up her throat, reminding her she might not be ready. But Tifa takes a deep breath, then another and another, and the anxiety ebbs as the ceremony begins; it distracts her whirring mind enough to allow her to regulate her breathing.

Though she wouldn’t admit it, Tifa doesn't really retain a word of what is said. She hates that it happens, but the assailing emotions don’t let her concentrate on the words themselves, only the sounds they create. By the time Cloud walks to the front, she’s calmed down enough to listen—and as she sees Cloud’s hands shake as they grip the podium, her focus narrows down on him as if it would be of any comfort to his own nervousness.

A hush falls over the room, an accompaniment to Cloud’s own quietness as he steels himself. After what feels like an eternity, he straightens, inhales, exhales, and begins.

“I thought I knew what I was going to say today, but…in the end, I don’t think there’s anything I truly want to say.” Cloud pauses, and Tifa holds her breath. “I never thought I’d have to—do this. I wish I didn’t have to say anything. But what I want—that’s something the world doesn’t always listen to. The only thing I really wanted when it came to Seph… I just wanted him to be okay.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he clears his throat. “But he wasn’t and—we didn’t listen.”

Tifa winces as she realizes her nails had been digging into her palms, and she opens them, laying them flat on her lap. Her eyes stay on Cloud, watching him gulp and blow out a breath. When he carries on, she feels her heart crack.

“I didn’t listen,” Cloud says, his voice shaking. “Seph was—my brother. He taught me Algebra when I was a teen. I didn’t understand anything, but he sat with me for hours and days until I aced it. He was always the first to help Mom.” He moves as if to lift his head but then thinks better of it, as if he can’t look at his mother or he’ll break. “He took care of Denzel when our father left. I never told him that, but…Seph was amazing. I looked up to him in a way I’ve never looked up to anyone else. In all the ways that matter, despite the fact that we didn’t always get along—Seph was my hero.”

Someone in the crowd lets out a muted sob, and Tifa turns her head, her gaze settling on Cloud’s mother as she hunches forward, a hand over her chest, the other holding Denzel’s. Cloud flinches, and his grasp on the podium grows taut again—but he doesn’t raise his head still.

“Seph was a lot of things, but he was also unhappy,” Cloud says, voice wavering for a second. “I think he didn’t want us to know. Not until it was too much for him to bear alone, for him to—carry on. And Seph, he…asked for help.” He stops short, taking a second to regulate his breathing. “He asked for help so many times, and we didn’t answer. Not in time, and maybe not in the way we should have. I know I didn’t.”

It’s Tifa’s turn to wince, the weight of his guilt slamming into her as if it was hers.

“I guess I should talk more about what kind of person Seph was. But the truth is that it _is_ how he was—and putting aside those parts of him, even if they’re hard to accept… It’s putting aside who the real Seph was. They made him up just as much as everything else, and we didn’t—we didn’t want to see it. We didn’t want to listen. We didn’t want to answer. In the end, my brother—” Cloud gulps, closes his eyes, and then, his voice too soft, says, “My brother drowned in a sea of silence. So, please—please, don’t close your eyes. Don’t choose not to listen. Don’t—” Cloud bites his lip, holding his words down, but Tifa hears them anyway— _don’t be like me._ “Please remember this as you remember my brother,” he says instead before walking away from the podium.

A moment of quiet falls on the room, and then the ceremony carries on, but Tifa isn’t listening again. She watches Cloud take a seat next to his mother, watches the way he tries to control the shaking of his body—she looks away then, feeling like she is intruding, and opens her partition to focus on something else and steady her heartbeat.

As the ceremony closes and people get up to mingle, all she can see is the partition before her. The Nocturne in E Minor stares back, unflinching, and she gets lost in memories for a moment. Her mother smiling at her and singing—then as she plays the piano, her body swinging from side to side as she is lost to the music—and finally, her mother giving her one last smile as she listens to what she cherished most. And she remembers the funeral—that feeling of dread and disappointment and failure. But it doesn’t scare her, not this time.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.”

Tifa looks up to see Zack standing to her right, his solemn expression a harsh contrast to his usual self.

“No, I don’t have to,” Tifa says softly. Her hands raise, positioning themselves over the keys. “But I want to.”

She doesn’t wait for Zack to answer—her left hand bears down on the first note, and she forgets the world around her.

To her, there’s always been something sad about this piece, a kind of nostalgia she can’t quite name. Like wishing for days gone, maybe, or for days that will never come—and she can’t help but think of how apt it is. For Cloud and Seph, but also for her mother and her. Tifa isn’t here anymore, playing the piano—instead, she is back in that funeral parlor, the one from four years ago, and she lets her soul sing a farewell. She nods at Zack to turn the pages, not realizing what she is doing, only feeling and reliving a moment the way she had wanted it to go. It’s surreal, like she is far away from this place, from this present; in her mind, she is at her old piano, her mother on one side and her father on the other, and she plays them something, her six-year-old’s hands too small and too excited for precision and grace—but they smile and congratulate her. _Never forget the music is part of who you are because you want it to be_ , her mother says as her father wipes away a tear that escaped, _and you can bring it with you wherever you go, just like I will bring you with me wherever I go_.

Tifa knows this isn’t a memory—it’s how she makes peace with herself and her regrets—but she still allows the illusion to take over her, to bask in its wishfulness. It’s only once the last note of the piece fades that she blinks and recognizes her surroundings—for a moment, she is disoriented, but Zack’s familiar face syncs her back with the present. She pulls her hands back and into her lap, giving herself a second to regain her composure—until she realizes it’s not needed. There’s a sting of sorrow that needles her heart, but for the first time in what seems like forever, it doesn’t make her want to run away.

At her side, Zack stays quiet as if waiting for her signal still, and she turns to smile at him. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?”

The way he asks doesn’t make her think he knows her history with the piano—he’s only perceptive enough to tell something happened. And it makes her glad.

“I’m okay,” she says as she stands. “And you know, Zack…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really happy you’re my friend. You’re a handful, for sure,” she chuckles when he rolls his eyes, “but I think I can deal with that.”

Zack gulps, and she pretends not to notice the display of emotion. “It’s not like you have a choice. You’re stuck with me. We’re partners in crime, after all.”

“You’re right.” Tifa gives him another smile, a gentler one. “We still have to smash Reno.”

“Hell yeah. He’s not giving up,” he grumbles. “And I’m happy you’re my friend, too, Tifa.”

She gathers her partition, putting it in her bag. “I know,” she says with a slight smirk. “Hold on to this for me, would you?”

“The things I do for friendship.” Zack sighs but takes the bag. “He just went outside, by the way. Through that door.” He points at a side door she hadn’t even noticed.

Tifa takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright, thank you.”

The chill of the outside air makes her regret not having brought a warmer coat—but it doesn’t seem to bother Cloud as he sits against the building, his jacket open.

“You’ll get cold,” she says as a greeting. Tifa takes a seat to his right. “Couldn’t stand the crowd?”

He blinks slowly, as if coming out of a dream, then shakes his head. “I don’t know most of these people. Seph was pretty popular, you know. Made a lot of friends everywhere, but they were never really his friends to him.” Cloud rubs his eyes, and she takes in the way his shoulders droop. “Thank you for playing,” he says, quiet. “It was beautiful.”

“I’m glad I did.” Tifa twists a little so she can face him. “I didn’t think I could do it at first.”

He flinches, and she almost takes back her words. “Sorry for asking that of you, I should have been more considerate.”

“No, it’s alright.” His surprised glance makes her hesitate for a second, but then she shakes the doubts away. “I wanted to play at my mother’s funeral,” she confesses, “and I wasn’t able to do it.” Cloud’s breath hitches, the only reaction he allows himself, and she carries on, “I always regretted it. Like I betrayed her by not saying goodbye our way.”

“And I asked that of you,” Cloud whispers. “I asked—fuck, Tifa, you should have told me.”

It’s her turn to shake her head. “But I’m glad you did, Cloud. I was happy to get that second chance. And to do this for you.”

“That’s why you stopped, isn’t it?” The rising pitch of his voice betrays his agitation. “Because you regretted…”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Fucking hell. Fuck, I didn’t…I didn’t think—”

“Cloud, you’re wrong.” The firmness of her voice has him glance at her again, and she can’t ignore the tears in his eyes. “ _You_ gave me this chance. I could have said no. But I wanted to do it. For me—and for you.”

The sob that racks through Cloud is violent, and the noise he lets out would have scared her if she hadn’t known he would break one day. Tifa doesn’t touch him at first—the way he hides behind his hands and tries to hold in the tears tells her he needs a moment to allow himself this. It’s only once he’s realized he can’t contain the grief tearing through him that Tifa scoots closer and rests her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t react, but she doesn’t mind—he’s too lost within himself for now, and she knows that kind of loss, the kind that tilts the world on its axis until it feels like you’ll never make it home. As Cloud’s sobs ease into softer cries and then quiet, Tifa doesn’t move.

“Do you want to go back inside?” she asks, keeping her voice gentle.

Cloud blows out a breath, then another; he leans his head against hers. “No.”

“That’s alright. I’ll stay with you if you want.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, “I’d like that.”

A true silence settles between them, one where there’s nothing to say and that’s alright. The howling wind speaks for them, filling in the blanks.

For now, for both of them—it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's believed, but not proven, that Chopin wrote this Nocturne (his first one chronologically) after his sister's passing. That is one of the reasons I chose this piece, beyond just being very fitting. The other is that it's actually the one that got me back into playing piano after a 8 years hiatus. So, in a way, this is my dedication to it.
> 
> Also, it's 2:30AM and I didn't edit, please have mercy on me.
> 
> Find me on the [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans).


	16. Liebesträume No.3 in A-flat Major

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I’ll have another A/N at the end, but I have a lot to say. If you’ll allow me some emotions, I would like to share a few things:
> 
> This story is, in many ways, deeply personal to me. While Tifa’s story here is not my own, there are a lot of elements taken from my own experiences with music—from starting the piano at 6 because of my mother to not playing for years to using it as a coping mechanism. I have a long, complicated history with piano—it’s many things to me at once, both an anchor to reality and a reminder of lost dreams. But writing this story has given me the chance to sort through these feelings, to make a kind of peace with music. And beyond that, in a way, it let me grant someone dear the farewell I could never give them.
> 
> The reason I am sharing this with you guys is that, this peace I can now experience never would have happened without all of you—without the amazing reception to this fic or all of the encouragement you gave me. I’ve always said I write for myself—that I stick to my guns and tell the story I want to tell. And that much is still true, but I think it’s not all there is to it anymore. As an author, writing is only part of the journey; the rest comes from you, and damn if the support for this story hasn’t been astounding, if not overwhelming at times. I will never stop being grateful for this.
> 
> So, thank you so much for making me want to share this—and thank you for reading it.
> 
> SK
> 
> —  
> Liebesträume No.3 - Liszt

—

—

**A Sea of Silence**

—

 **16:** Liebesträume No.3 in A-flat Major

—

The day Tifa gets back to Midgar, it snows.

She stands outside of Claudia Strife's house, staring off into the woods across the street. The sun is out, but it's a gray kind of sunlight—she loves the way it sparkles off the fresh snow weighing down the trees. There is snow in Midgar, only it's never _this_ snow. In Midgar, it melts as quickly as it falls, and whatever is left becomes a muddy mess. Tifa enjoys the sight while she can.

"Are you sure?"

Zack's voice drifting through the wind catches her attention, and she turns around to find him near the car speaking with Cloud. She walks up to them, hands in her pockets to keep them warm.

"I'm sure," Cloud says with a nod. "Mom needs me for a while."

"Alright, I get that. Hopefully, that asshole will be understanding."

Cloud shrugs one shoulder as if he couldn't care less—and she thinks it must be the case. "If he wants to fail me, he can go ahead. I've got other things to worry about."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Tifa says. She twists her head to look at Cloud. "Text me when you leave for Midgar, please?"

"Yeah, of course. Probably next weekend." He throws a glance at the house. "Maybe longer."

"How are they doing?" Zack asks.

"Not good. I think…since they lived with him, they feel they should have known. Mom doesn't want to see anyone for now."

Tifa drops her hand on his arm. "Give them time." The words _give yourself time_ threaten to leave her, but she holds them down.

"I know. I know, it's just…hard."

Zack steps forward, clapping Cloud on the shoulder. "Just remember we're a phone call away." He waits for Cloud to nod before pulling back. "Alright, we have to get going. You ready?" he asks, turning her way.

"Yeah." She gives him a pointed stare. Zack bites down a smirk as he walks away; once he's climbed into the car and is out of earshot, Tifa says, "Anything I can do other than getting your mail?" He shakes his head. "Please let me know if you do. I'm being serious," she adds when Cloud chuckles.

"I know," he says softly. "Don't worry too much, would you?" Cloud tucks strands of hair behind her ear. "I'll see you soon."

"Alright." She doesn't like the meekness slipping through her voice, but she lets it go. "Please take care of yourself."

When Cloud leans down to kiss her, Tifa closes her eyes; it's a short, sweet kiss, but she prefers it this way—it feels less like a silent farewell and more like a promise to be home soon.

"Be careful on the road," he says as he pulls back.

For a second, she doesn't know what to say. She nods, hoping the right words will come to her; when they don't, she twists on her heels and heads for the car. Zack grumbles something sounding suspiciously like _you two are too cute, it's gross_ as he starts the car, but Tifa makes a show of ignoring him. They drive off, and though it's tempting to look back at Cloud getting smaller and smaller, she doesn't.

"He'll be fine," Zack says once they get on the highway.

Tifa stares out of the window. "Eventually."

There's a pause, one where tension rises then crashes. "Yeah. Eventually."

Her eyes close on their own as she leans her head back against the seat. "I hope so," she whispers.

Zack doesn't answer, and she drifts off, lulled by the faint sound of the radio.

—

The café Aerith chose is quiet, almost empty; Tifa spots her friends sitting at a table against the wall. She orders a latte for herself and goes to join them. Yuffie raises a hand in a wave, her attention held by her phone.

"Good morning," Aerith says with a smile.

"Hey."

"How was the trip?"

At this, Yuffie puts the phone down. Tifa takes a sip of her drink. It feels strange to admit to being with Cloud to them—not because it's something she wants to hide, but because she did hide it for so long.

"It was hard," she says. Her hands wrap around the cup, seeking warmth. "But I'm glad I went."

Aerith crosses her arms, leaning on the table. "Yeah, Zack said the same."

"Cloud really needed the support." Tifa clears her throat once, twice. "Uh, we're dating, by the way."

The lack of reaction on Aerith's end tells Tifa she already knew, and it's not surprising considering who her boyfriend is. But it's Yuffie's confused frown that puzzles Tifa.

Yuffie lifts a hand as if to say _wait a second_. "You mean you _weren't_ dating?"

Laughter erupts from Aerith; she does her best to hold it in, but her shaking shoulders betray her efforts. Tifa can only blink at her friends, surprise overtaking her.

"Uh," she says, "We started dating less than a month ago."

"Seriously?" Yuffie bends forward, chuckling. "I thought you were dating back in what, November? When we went to the bar?" At Tifa's shocked expression, Yuffie slaps a hand on the table. "You went home together!" She doesn't try very hard to contain her mirth. "He was feeling you up under the table!"

Tifa senses her cheek warm as embarrassment spreads through her lightning-fast. "Yuffie! How the fuck do you know?" she hisses.

"You mean it's true?" Aerith's gasp echoes in Tifa's ears, and she hides her face behind her hands. "Oh, my."

Yuffie lets out a loud cackle. "Reno noticed, he just had the decency to shut up about it while we were there." At Tifa's self-conscious silence, she adds, "I just figured you didn't want to talk about it when you never mentioned it. Come on, lighten up." She tugs Tifa's hands away from her face. "Wanna hear what Reno and I did in at the library in exchange?"

"No!" Tifa yelps.

"Aw, you sure?"

"I'm sure!"

Aerith elbows Yuffie, leaning in to mock-whisper. "Tell me later."

"I hate you," Tifa groans.

Her friends laugh at her dismayed tone, and it makes it hard to suppress her smile. Thankfully, the topic switches, but Tifa can't let the talk of the previous weekend go. Part of her longs to let them know what she did, what she accomplished—even if they might not understand the scope of it.

"So, uh," she says as soon as there's a pause, "I just want to say that…" She trails off, her resolve weakening under their curious and worried stares. But Tifa takes a deep breath and says, "Next time we hang out at my place, I'd like to play the piano for the two of you."

"Oh." The word escapes Aerith. "Tifa, you…" She closes her mouth, swallowing down whatever she was about to say, but there's no missing the sudden misting of her eyes.

"Awesome. Do I get to choose my piece?"

Yuffie's casual reaction is a welcome one, and Tifa had expected it—she'd never explained her history with the piano to her. And she's glad for it right now, because she's not sure how she would have handled the two of them reacting the way Aerith does, hands clenched and gulping down rising tears.

"No, you don't," Tifa says, laughing. "I can't magically learn what you want." She glances at Aerith, her heart constricting as she spies her friend wiping a stray tear away. "But you can always tell me. I might consider it."

"'Consider it' she says." Yuffie drums her fingers on the table in a show of irritation. "Better than nothing, I guess. Then I want that one really fast and difficult piece. The one that looks insane."

"I have no clue what that is supposed to be."

Yuffie mimics playing the piano. "You know the one you always see people playing on the internet. The dude's name was, like, Licht or something."

" _Liszt_?"

"Maybe?" Yuffie waves a hand around in dismissal. "It looks cool."

"I'm refusing in advance."

"You suck, Lockhart. Giving me false hope."

Aerith's prolonged silence doesn't go unnoticed, but both Tifa and Yuffie carry on like there's nothing wrong. It's not a dismissal, and Aerith must know it, or at least Tifa hopes she does. It's their way of giving her time, distracting her with jokes and silliness until she feels ready to speak again. When she does, the conservation has moved on, and she doesn't bring it back to piano, and Tifa is glad for that. It's only as Tifa gets up to leave and hugs her friends goodbye that Aerith mentions it.

"I'm so happy for you," she whispers in Tifa's ear.

"Thank you. Me too." Tifa leans back and gives her friend a smile.

Aerith shakes her head, her own answering smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I love you, you know that, right?" Aerith wraps an arm around Yuffie, bringing her into the fold. "Both of you."

While Yuffie rolls her eyes, they all know it's for appearance's sakes. "I love you too, Short Stuff. On most days, anyway."

"Oh, you fucking gremlin. Just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?"

Tifa lets out a soft laugh that gets drowned in their bickering. "I love you as well," she says, too quietly to be heard. But that's okay, she thinks, because she has other ways to tell them.

As she leaves the café and heads for the university, Tifa checks her phone for new messages, finding none. The last one she got from Cloud was last night, telling her he'll be coming back Sunday early afternoon. All throughout her classes, she types a message, then erases it, then starts another one—by the time her day is over, she hasn't sent anything. It's not that she's scared, but something about sending him messages feels intrusive, especially knowing he stayed behind to spend time with his family.

Tifa is still debating with herself when she hears the screaming. Her head snaps up, the voice familiar—and she rolls her eyes as she spots Zack three tables down. He jumped out of his seat, his expression one of disgust. The mostly empty cafeteria makes it easy to hear Reno's laughter further away.

"I fucking _hate_ spiders!" Zack shouts, whirling around to find the culprit. His glare settles on Reno quickly enough. "You ruined my fucking food!"

To Tifa's surprise, Reno stands and walks away from his snickering friends; he makes his way over to Zack, and she finds herself following. She gets there at the same time as Reno and, as she glances at Zack's lunch, holds in her own burst of laughter. Dozens of tiny fake spiders fill a plastic container with pasta in it.

"That's…a little gross," she says out of consideration for Zack's feelings.

"No, that's payback," Reno drawls as he takes a seat. "I had glitter stuck in unmentionable places for weeks."

Zack sits down and puts the lid down on the container with too much force, hiding the spiders from sight. "Wasn't even my fucking idea."

Tifa's eyes widen at this. "Zack—"

"No? That's disappointing. Was it Cloud's?" Reno frowns. "Wait—where is Cloud, anyway? You two are usually glued together."

"Cloud had to go back home for family reasons," Zack snaps.

Though most of his irritation has to be due to the prank, Tifa can tell the topic isn't something Zack wants to discuss. "He'll be back soon." At Reno's inquisitive glance, she adds, "He needed to spend some time with his family."

"Okay, I didn't know. Sorry about the comment." Reno rubs the back of his head as if embarrassed. "Is there anything I can do for him?"

Zack blinks as he stares at Reno, his shock obvious. "Repeat that."

"You heard me, you dick. Tifa can tell me anyway."

Yuffie's words from before come back to Tifa, and she looks away from Reno. "I'll let you know."

The faint buzz of the cafeteria fills in the silence for a moment. Right as Tifa is about to get up, Reno asks, "So, if it _wasn't_ Cloud, who was it?"

The question shatters Zack's annoyance, and he bursts out laughing, gesturing at Tifa in a sweeping gesture.

"Zack!" Tifa hisses, smacking his arm away.

"For real? It was Tifa? _Tifa_? Yo…" Reno shakes his head. "How much to have you on my team?"

"Bribery, Reno? That's low. And anyway, Tifa is _my_ partner in crime. Right, neighbor?"

"I—" Tifa sighs at Zack's expectant look. "Yeah."

"So this whole time it was two against one? Fuck that! We need a rematch."

"You're just a sore loser."

"And you're a fucking _cheater_."

"Bye," Tifa says dryly.

She pushes the chair back to stand, rolling her eyes when she notices they aren't paying attention. It's only as she steps away from the table that they realize she's leaving; their goodbye shouts mix in with their arguing and the ambient noise. Tifa waves over her shoulder, walking towards the exit. But as she nears the parking lot, she stops in her tracks. Across of her, about to get into his car, is Vincent. He spots her jogging his way before closing the door. Tifa gestures at the passenger door, asking for silent permission to get in, and he nods.

"What's up?" he asks as she settles in the seat.

"Sorry, I won't keep you long."

"That's fine, I don't have much planned for the night."

Tifa digs into her bag until she finds what she'd been looking for. "Here," she says, handing him a wrinkled piece of paper.

He frowns as he takes it; he smoothes the paper to read it and stills. "That's from…my ad for lessons."

"Yeah." Tifa smiles. "It is."

"You—" Vincent raises his head to stare at her, and she pretends not to see the relief etched in his features. "What happened?"

"I—finally got to say goodbye," she says, a note of wistfulness in her voice. "I'm ready now."

Vincent says nothing at first; he exhales and nods a few times as if lost in his thoughts, then takes out his phone, pulling out the calendar app. "When do you want your first lesson?"

There's something about his lack of intrusive questions that makes Tifa glad—out of all people, it would have felt normal for Vincent to ask for more explanation. But she's not sure she would have wanted to tell him what happened exactly—not because of him, but because some things are just meant to be yours alone.

"Next Wednesday, if that's possible? Around five?"

They hammer out a quick schedule, and Tifa notes it. It's a little strange to think about piano lessons, but it's the exhilaration that wins over; the prospect twists her stomach in anticipation.

"Maybe one day I'll play the Ballade," she says as she puts away the phone.

Vincent gives her his usual slight smile. "Yeah, maybe you will."

"You know…" Tifa takes a deep breath. "I've said this before—but thank you, Vincent."

He opens his mouth to say something but stops himself as if thinking better of it. Silence falls—not for long, but enough to let Tifa know he's debating his next words.

"I want to thank you, too," he finally says. "You helped me in your own way," he adds at her surprised expression.

"Did I?" He nods but doesn't elaborate—and that's fine with her, she thinks, because it's like her not wanting to elaborate on saying farewell to her mother. He can keep his secrets and she can keep hers. "Then that's good."

"I'm glad you were weird and sat by my door," Vincent says. His smile morphing into a smirk tells her he's teasing. She punches him in the arm with little force, and he laughs; it's a soft sound she realizes she hasn't heard very often. "I'll see you next week, then?"

"You will." Tifa exits the car, leaning back inside before closing the door. "Thanks, Vincent."

"No problem," he says with a wave.

She shuts the door and stands aside as he starts the car; by the time he's driven off, she's made it to her own car. Her shoulders seem lighter, and though she's aware it's just an illusion, Tifa enjoys the moment of levity while she can; once she gets back home, she'll be unwittingly reminded of reality.

But as she walks into her building and heads for the mailboxes, Tifa realizes that the day she had today—that fun, pleasant, _normal_ day—is also part of reality. All that happened recently made her forget that the world still spins, and she has to keep on living, too, and not just dwell into the dark. Still, as she grabs Cloud's mail and notices a letter meant for _Tifa_ under his address, she finds it hard not to be swallowed by those shadows.

Tifa doesn't open it until she's reached her apartment; all the other letters are for Cloud—bills she's tried to convince him don't need to be sent by mail anymore. Her hands are surprisingly steady as she opens the letter—maybe it's that part of her knows what to expect, even if another wants nothing more than to deny the possibility. She takes out the folded papers from the envelope, sitting on the couch before looking at the content of the letters.

The top paper is addressed to her. As she reads the first line, her heart constricts, the unexpected pain cutting off her breath for a second, and she hates that she was right—the letter is from Seph.

_Tifa,_

_I want to start by saying thank you for taking care of my brother._

_This letter is an unfair one, and I'm aware of it. But the truth is that there is no one else I could ask this of. Or in any case, you're who I think is the best person for this. We didn't meet for long, but it was enough for me to know I can trust you. The moment I got back to Kalm, I sat down to write this. I'm sorry for putting this weight on you._

_Included with this letter is one for Cloud. I can't bring myself to leave it for him. I wish I knew my brother more, because maybe then I could make the decision on my own. But I know enough to tell Cloud will feel guilty no matter what. It's my fault for reaching out to him, for making him feel this way. And I suppose part of me wants to ease this guilt the only way I still can. I'm afraid the letter will make it worse, but I also think the silence won't help._

_Tifa, I'm selfishly asking you to decide for me._

_Because you love Cloud, I know you will do what is best for him and only him._

_Again, I'm sorry for this. And as a last request: please continue helping him. Don't let him lose his way like me._

_Thank you,_

_Sephiroth_

Tifa reads the letter once, twice. By the third time, she can't hold back the tears; they fall, silently and slowly, and she doesn't wipe them away. She doesn't care about the stains they create on the letter—her letter. If anything, she almost wishes she could drown the letter in tears so its content would be forever illegible.

With a trembling hand, she drops the first letter on the coffee table; the second one stares back at her, Cloud's name scrawled on top. It feels intrusive to read it, and she hesitates—after all, maybe she could just give it to Cloud as is, without reading it. But something about the idea doesn't sit right with her; Seph wasn't wrong when he said this could make Cloud's guilt worse. Tifa takes a moment to compose herself as best as she can, then starts reading.

_Cloud,_

_You should know I'm proud of you. I think I should have been more open with that. You work hard, Cloud, and you don't like giving up. I've always admired that about you. But you should also know how to let go of things. You're only one person, you can't be everyone's hero all the time. You need to live for yourself too._

_I wish I'd have been a better brother to you. I wish I'd told you you helped because it's true. But what I wish the most is that I'd told you how grateful I am to have you as my brother. I wish I had said all that to you, but I was too afraid to or I didn't think it mattered until now._

_I know you might not believe me now, but I hope that, one day, you understand I was lucky to have you. All three of you._

_Thank you, Cloud._

_Seph_

It takes a while for Tifa to move; she doesn't read through the letter again, not like she did with hers. The noise from the city drifts in despite the closed windows, or maybe it's that she's trying to focus on something else than her torn heart and the paper in her hand. A car's honk is what syncs her back with the world again. Tifa folds the letter, careful to follow the creases that had already formed. Finding a new envelope isn't easy—it's not often that she sends mail—but she does at the bottom of a drawer full of junk. She grabs another sheet and a pen and sits at her kitchen table.

Mimicking Seph's handwriting doesn't prove to be too hard. After writing out Cloud's address a dozen times, she feels it looks similar enough that he won't notice without something to compare it to. With a long inhale, Tifa puts the letter addressed to him in the new envelope, seals it, and puts a stamp she spent an eternity searching for. She stands up and drops the new envelope in the pile of mail destined for Cloud.

Tifa picks up her own letter and folds it before going to the piano. The bench is the kind with a hidden compartment; she lifts the top, as well as the partitions stored in there, and puts the letter at the bottom. The partitions back in place and the bench closed, Tifa goes to sit on the couch again.

It's a sort of lie to pretend the letter was mailed to Cloud, but Tifa doesn't think it's the bad sort of lie. It's one that warrants being told and believed. If it will bring Cloud any peace of mind, any comfort, then she will carry the secret as long as is needed. Part of her _does_ want to keep her letter a secret, make it something between Seph and her only. And it feels right for the letter to be with the piano, though she isn't sure why.

As Tifa loses herself in the ambient noise of the TV and her eyelids grow heavy, she thinks of sweet dreams and farewells—and that it feels right to have her only tangible souvenir of Seph rest with the ones she has of her mother.

—

Cloud returns while she's out on an errand. As she walks inside her apartment, she hears a noise coming from his side. Tifa freezes in her entrance for a moment, debating if she should go see him or not. But then, she remembers having left the mail on his counter; Zack hadn't asked her why she'd wanted the key to Cloud's place, and she hadn't explained. At first, she'd thought she was being cowardly by not wanting to be present when Cloud would find the letter—but she'd realized it was more about giving him the space needed to absorb its content, its meaning.

Tifa puts away the items she bought, does some laundry, and sits down to study before Cloud knocks on her door. A glance at the time tells her it's been two hours since she got back.

"Hey," she says as she opens the door. She moves to let him pass.

Cloud walks in, and she ignores the puffiness and redness of his eyes, sure signs he cried. "Hi." Before she can say anything else, he adds, "For today—I just want to hang out with you. No ghosts. Just me and you."

She blinks, a little surprised, then nods. "We can do that."

His shoulders sag in relief at her answer. "Thanks."

As the afternoon advances and they chat and eat lunch and study, Cloud never mentions Seph's letter. And perhaps he never will, Tifa realizes, and that's fine—by now, she knows he will if he wants to.

When she gets up to grab a glass of water, Cloud asks, "Wanna listen to some music?"

"Okay. You can choose."

It's silent while she fills her glass and takes a few sips; as she gets back to the living room, the first notes of Liszt's Liebesträume No.3 sound, and Tifa allows herself a little smile as she sees Cloud near the window, staring at the street below.

"That's a beautiful one," she says, putting down her glass on the coffee table and joining him. "Always liked it."

"Yeah, it is."

She holds in a yelp of surprise when Cloud grabs her hand and pulls her towards him as if they would dance—one of his arms around her waist, his other hand in hers. Tifa tilts her head back to look at him, finding his eyes already on her.

"I thought you didn't like dancing," she says softly.

"I told you it'd depend on if you were asking me," he replies, his voice just as gentle.

Though she wouldn't call their slow swaying dancing, Tifa finds she prefers this anyway—the quietness of it is what speaks beyond words.

"You know what the title for this piece means?" Cloud asks after a beat.

"Uh-uh. Means 'Love Dream'."

Another pause, and the piano slows down as the music nears its end.

"What you did for me at the funeral… Playing the piano."

Tifa goes to lift her head from his shoulder, but he leans his against it before she can—and she understands he can't look at her to say what comes next. "Yeah?"

"I understand why you did it." His voice is barely above a whisper, yet he still sounds clear and steady. "That part of you that did it for me, I get it."

In her chest, her heart beats a little faster, but not so much that it hurts—instead, it feels warm, happy, like it knows there are good times to come.

"I can't play, but…"

"It's okay, Cloud." Tifa raises her head, forcing him to move so she can look at him—really look at him. "I understand."

"Yeah?"

She smiles. "Yeah."

Cloud rests his forehead against her, and she realizes this—unsaid words and meaningful choices—this is better. This is true, this is enough—to her and to him—and it's what really matters.

Cloud and her—their entwined lives open in A-flat Major, with a dreamlike theme that sings of promises. It will change with time—maybe it will cascade in a cadenza or it will soar through hopeful octaves, or maybe it will be both and so much more.

But that's alright, she thinks, they don't have to know right now.

They have time to find out.

—

(She's back in the house she grew up in, in the house she shared with her mother; the piano stands before her. In the back, she hears voices, both real and unreal—his voice and her father's, loud and teasing; but also _her_ voice, soft and lilting as it always was. It whispers words she's heard before, words she never forgot but wants to hear again— _I love it most when you play for me and I can see how happy that makes you. Will you play for me, sweetheart? I want to hear you again. I want to see you happy again._

The cover of the piano feels heavy, but she smiles as she lifts it, revealing the keys; her hands move on their own, as if guided by invisible ones, and—

She plays.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, once again, so grateful for the support this fic received. It went beyond anything I could have ever imagined, and if anything, I'm glad it happened to this story.
> 
> Because it's so special to me. What started as a oneshot (yeah, yeah) evolved into something personal and more complex than I had expected—it's the kind of surprise you welcome, maybe grudgingly at first because why make this so much more complicated than it has to be, right? But once you do welcome it, it's so fulfilling and you feel accomplished in having seen it through. That's how I feel at least—proud of myself and so happy to have done this with all of you.
> 
> And I hope that, whatever this story made you feel, whatever it might have brought you, it's something good. Something real. Something that made you smile. And yeah, maybe, once in a while, something that made you cry ;)
> 
> That's it, guys. I'll see you in the next one! In the meantime, come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans)
> 
> P.S.: I told y'all to trust me ;)
> 
> S.K. Evans (08.23.2020)


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